


Merlin Emrys and the Legend of Excalibur

by one_more_page



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Ensemble Cast, Features Arthur & Merlin & Morgana uniting against the forces of evil, M/M, Mutual Pining, Primarily Merlin Characters, Slow Burn, Some HP Character Cameos, Uther Pendragon as Minister of Magic, and the knights as hogwarts students, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 179,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21990979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_more_page/pseuds/one_more_page
Summary: The Minister is dying, the Wizarding World is experiencing a coup, the most powerful Seer in a century is getting visions from the past, and Merlin is just trying to get through his Sixth Year without murdering Arthur Pendragon.ORMerlin: The Hogwarts AU.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 728
Kudos: 1165





	1. Chapter 1

A distant screech echoes through the otherwise silent forest. It is painted black with nightfall, the twisted gnarled trees block the meager light of a waning moon. The air is thick with humidity. The underbrush crunches and breaks as the wizard wades his way to the center of the wood. His cloak is as black as the night around him.

The sound of a twig snaps behind the wizard.

He freezes, turns to stare into the void behind him, eyes straining to make sense of the shapes. An animal darts across the path behind him, he relaxes. No one else should be here, it is forbidden after all.

“You’re late.” He starts at the voice, whipping around in the other direction. The other figure is cloaked in darkness, hood drawn, nearly camouflaged into the tree they lean against.

He bows. “My apologies.”

The figure tilts its head. “Were you followed?”

The wizard shakes his head. “Of course not.” He waits but the other figure remains completely silent. He pats the perspiration beading along his brow. Cloaks are not the most practical garments for the end of summer. “Did you bring it?”

A small pouch soars through the air between them. The wizard catches it with deft hands. He peers inside but it is too dark to see. He looks up at the figure. “What is it?”

“Does it matter?” He hears a smile in their voice.

He swallows. “I suppose not.”

“That is the correct answer. There are directions on the tag, memorize them then incinerate them. It must be used within twenty-four hours.”

“Of course, thank you.” He waits for further instructions. He receives none. “I’ll just…make my way back then.”

He is several paces away when his companion speaks again. “The window of opportunity is closing swiftly. You know the role you are to play in this and it is but a single thread in an otherwise detailed tapestry. Do not disappoint me.” It is a threat.

He clenches his jaw. “I know what is being asked of me and I am more than capable of locating the tomb, the sword, _and_ the boy.”

“Let us hope so. The fate of magic rests on this prophecy. Do not forget that.”

With a crack loud as thunder the other figure is gone, the forest still and silent once more, and the wizard begins his long journey back through the forest.

As long as the wizard follows his orders, by this time tomorrow the Minister of Magic will be well on his way to a slow, painful death.

\--

The pale gray of the early morning fog still clings to the ground outside the small inn at the end of the lane. The Rising Sun sits apart from the rest of the town, the sleepy village of Hogsmeade preparing for the yearly invasion of students returning to school after a summer back at home.

In the former servants quarters of what was once a large estate (renovated into private living rooms when the current innkeeper converted the building nearly twenty years ago) Merlin sleeps straight through his third alarm and pulls the covers tight around his gangly limbs. He doesn’t quite register the alarm going off or the voice yelling at him.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbles into the pillow.

He’s dreaming about dragons or knights or maybe knights fighting a dragon; it’s all still fuzzy around the edges. He’s in a clearing; dressed modestly in a brown jacket and scuffed boots and a dozen men in chainmail surround him. The sulfuric stench of dragon’s fire hangs in the air around them, steam curls off the scorched grass. There’s a man: gold and shiny, with a cape red as blood and beautiful enough to stop Merlin’s heart in its tracks. He’d die for him, in this dream, and as the man lifts his sword and yells a garbled dream-word that Merlin can’t decipher, he realizes all the men in chainmail feel the same way. Something like pride squeezes his heart so tight he can’t breathe.

“Merlin!” His eyes snap open as he’s ripped from sleep by the storm that is his mother. Gone are the men and the dragon and his prince and instead his familiar cramped, messy bedroom swims before him.

The room looks like a tornado hit it: books scattered over the floor; clothing strewn in piles based on what to take and what to leave behind; his white cat Aithusa glaring at him from deep within one of those piles (hopefully not one of clean laundry); quills and notebooks and random scraps of parchment are scattered everywhere from when he dumped the contents of the trunk at the onset of summer. Packing has never been his forte. The door that separates their living area from the inn kitchen slams and Merlin jumps off bed grabbing the nearest article of clothing. If his mother sees the state of this room she is definitely going to kill him.

“I’m awake!” He yells back. He runs a hand through his hair, making the tangled jet-black mess stand up even higher. He curses softly as he attempts to wrangle his arms into a button down. With a quick pass through the bathroom he is down the stairs in a matter of minutes, washed and brushed up, and looking (hopefully) presentable enough for his mother.

Hunith Emrys levels him with her best disproving glare as he skids to a stop in front of her. Despite the near foot of height he now has on his mother, she is still terrifying. She is in her usual attire of a loose fitting blouse and floor length skirt. She has always preferred muggle clothes to wizard garb, something Merlin agrees with. She also firmly believes in cleaning and cooking the muggle way as “hard work speaks for itself,” something Merlin doesn’t agree with.

She puts her hands on her hips, waiting.

Merlin shrinks further into himself. “I overslept…” his mother only raises one eyebrow in response. Oh right, she had specifically told him _not_ to do that and that there would be hell to pay if he did. Because September 1st was their second busiest day of the year with nervous parents reluctant to send their children away for so long and other families who use the day as an annual reunion.

“I’ll get started now?” His face breaks into his best beguiling smile. He’s been perfecting it for years: when he would knock over priceless heirlooms (why would they put stuff like that in the inn anyway?) or accidentally use his wandless magic to stich said heirlooms back together again or lie about the entire situation even though his mother could see right through him.

Hunith rolls her eyes but the smile she’s fighting lets him know he’s off the hook, mostly. “There’s a plate for you in the dining room and then a list of chores I need help with before check-in starts . And you’re sure you’re okay not taking the train again this year?”

“Yes, mum. As I’ve said for the past _five years_ ,” Merlin skirts around her and heads out toward the inn, “it doesn’t make any sense for us to go all the way to London just so I can take a train and end up down the street.” The kitchen is a flurry of activity, all the employees working to prepare for so many guests. He snags an apple tart behind the cook’s back and takes huge bite as he calls over to his mother, speaking around the crumbs. “It would just be a huge waste of time. And I’m happy to help.”

His mother shoots him a look somewhere near fondness and exasperation and runs her hand through his hair. She presses a kiss to his temple. “And I’m happy to have your help.” She swats him on the head with a dishtowel. “So get to it.”

Merlin laughs and pushes through the swinging doors from the kitchen to the inn proper. The huge open lobby greets him, the thatch ceiling visible between the rafters, a roaring fire already blazing away in the stone hearth, the sea of mismatched tables and chairs nearly empty at this time of morning. He waves at Alice behind the check-in desk along the far wall and heads over to the mismatched tables placed around the great room toward a familiar, surly, old man.

“Good Morning, Uncle Gaius,” Merlin greets, seating himself behind the plate that is overflowing with all his favorite foods.

The sigh Gaius heaves is heavy enough to coat the room. Merlin quirks an eyebrow. “Or not…?” Gaius is always just a touch away from complete exasperation but this feels more ominous than usual. Panic itches at his skin. “Is something wrong?”

Instead of replying, Gaius just sighs _again_ and tosses Merlin the newspaper. Merlin raises his eyebrows at the tabloid before him. Gaius would rather be caught dead than read such “drivel.” The main headline reads, “The Mad Minister?” with a moving picture of Minister for Magic Uther Pendragon gnashing his teeth at the camera.

Merlin’s heart sinks in his chest. A quick skim tells Merlin that Uther Pendragon had some sort of breakdown during his speech at a press conference two days ago, raving about a “plague of magic poisoning the land” before he collapsed on stage. He grabs the _Daily Prophet_ out of Gaius’ hands and ignores the “really, my boy haven’t you any patience?” and sees a much kinder article (no doubt written by the Minister’s PR team) about how Uther Pendragon has fallen ill and is currently being treated in St. Mungo’s. His family is asking for privacy at this time.

Merlin worries his lip. The Pendragon family was the closest thing the wizarding world had to royalty. Despite the connections they clearly had to pure blood elitists their name still carried a significant amount of weight in the community, their lineage allegedly extending back centuries. Uther Pendragon had been appointed Minister for Magic eight years prior. His traditionalist views were a far cry from many of the progressive policies that were installed before him and he was slowly dismantling them one by one.

Merlin sits back heavily and stares at Gaius. They should be rejoicing that such a horrible man might be out of power but Gaius was acting as if something worse was coming. “What does this mean?”

Gaius sighs. Or at least Merlin thinks he’s sighing. Given how often he’s been doing it these past few minutes there’s every chance that this is just how he breathes now, long and heavy, slow and weighed down with all the problems of the world. “I don’t know what you are asking, Merlin.”

Merlin leans forward. “Gaius, there’s no Minister.” He feels a bit stupid for pointing out something so obvious.

Gaius raises the infamous brow and Merlin does his best not to whither under the gaze. He very nearly succeeds. “The government is built to function with the absence of one man.” Merlin furrows his brow. But Uther Pendragon isn’t one man. He’s practically a tyrant, enacting the strictest magic laws since…well probably Voldemort if you asked Merlin. There was anti-Shapeshifter legislation primarily focused on werewolves but affecting plenty of other people as well. Anti-discriminatory policies against muggleborns and Squibs were quietly dissolved. His entire platform was built on making certain Magical Beings feel othered. Merlin bites his tongue so he doesn’t say any of this to Gaius. Gaius sends him a measuring look and Merlin thinks he might be able to read his mind.

He holds his breath as Gaius continues, “more so, didn’t you read the article? There’s to be an Interim Minister.” Gaius’ face scrunches up the way Merlin’s does when he drinks one of Gaius’ healing potions. “Agravaine de Bois.”

Merlin’s jaw drops. “ _Agravaine_?” he hisses. “He’s worse than Uther!” Agravaine had ties to people who supported Voldemort _both_ times but had somehow weaseled out of any actual implications and even secured himself a safe job at the Ministry, apparently high enough to become the bloody Minister. Merlin swallows. “Can’t you…do something?”

Gaius smiles, a small sad broken smile that shouldn’t ever paint his features. “Despite your unwavering faith Merlin, I am not as powerful as you seem to believe.”

“But,” he pouts, “you work at Hogwarts…that’s got to count for something.”

Gaius pats his hand. “You shouldn’t worry too much about it. There’s plenty of upstanding wizards in the government working to fight for a good cause.” There are also plenty of bad wizards hoping to push their insidious agendas, but once again Merlin doesn’t point this out. “Much more than a sixteen year old boy is capable of, I’m sure.”

Merlin pouts harder and morosely eats his toast. “Not Harry Potter,” he mumbles and is awarded with a throaty chuckle from Gaius.

“But you aren’t Harry Potter. And I would not wish such a fate on you.” Gaius mouth quirks slightly. “And you really shouldn’t talk about your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor that way, Merlin.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. Though he would admit that he was a bit star-struck back in first year when he met the man, the thrill had quickly worn off when he learned how fond the man was of assigning essays and _puns_.

“Plus,” Gaius adds, looking at him over his mug of tea, “you should be more concerned about how this news is affecting your friends.”

Merlin flushes in embarrassment. Despite how much he hated Uther Pendragon and everything his government stood for, his first thought should have been of the man’s children. Poor Morgana. And Arthur too. Though he wouldn’t consider the boy his friend he couldn’t imagine going through something like this, let alone on such a public platform. His gaze flickers once more to the tabloid, which features a smaller picture of Arthur and Morgana. The two are being ushered into St. Mungo’s behind a sea of security personnel. Arthur’s broad shoulders eclipse Morgana from view and he keeps turning to glare out of the picture. It almost makes Merlin smile. Even Arthur in picture form is a bit of a prat.

“Merlin!” His mother’s voice rings through the room and he stuffs the piece of bread in his mouth, abruptly halting his thoughts in their track. He gives Gaius a sheepish grin as he races off to help his mother, grumbling under his breath that Harry Potter probably never had to do chores.

\--

The train carriage rocks back and forth, the uneven rails jerking the cart sharply every few minutes but Arthur keeps his face pressed against the cool glass allowing the occasional beating of his head against the pane.

Morgana sits across from him, the two of them alone in the car. He hadn’t ridden the train with Morgana…ever. Even on their first day she had raced ahead of him and denied ever knowing him even though they were twins (though they didn’t look like it) and shared a surname and were children of an incredibly prominent figure in the Ministry.

They have the car to themselves for now but he knows Gwen is in the next car and he can practically feel her vibrating, desperate to sit next to Morgana and comfort her as best friends are wont to do. And if Gwen is there that means Lance is too and he has never been afraid of pushing Arthur when he thinks he needs it. And Elyan is probably trying to hold Gwen back. And Gwaine and Leon are likely there as well and maybe even Percival although Arthur can’t figure out who in their group Percival could possibly get along with, the boy is just too nice. And that’s not even factoring Morgana’s housemates into the equation. If he didn’t feel so awful, he’d probably peak his head around to check out the clown car next to them, it had to be a tight squeeze.

Morgana is staring, or rather _glaring_ out the window at the absolutely picturesque landscape flying by. She’s probably debating whether or not to risk using magic to make the weather as miserable as she is. He almost smiles, Morgana was always one for drama. Despite both of them being prefects, the Ravenclaw representative Mithian had (rather nervously) informed them that they were exempt from their duties for the first night and they should meet with their heads of houses upon their return. Arthur’s not particularly looking forward to that conversation. Longbottom was going to butter him up with biscuits and tea and make him talk about his _feelings_. He rather envied Morgana, Arthur would much rather talk to Gaius.

“Morgana,” he starts but he doesn’t know where to go. She doesn’t glance at him but he sees her knuckles tighten on her robes. Maybe she wants to hit something, he knows he does. “We can go back.”

Now the glare is on him and he swears his clothes are sizzling, just from her gaze alone. “And do _what_?” she hisses.

Arthur looks down at his folded hands. “Be there.”

Morgana takes a shuddering breath. “Well, the only lucid statement our father has been able to communicate in the past two days was that he wanted us far away from him.” He meets her fierce gaze, wet with unshed tears. “Who am I to deny him his dying wish?” The last word is strangled and she looks back out the window.

He wants to argue with her, that isn’t strictly what their father said (though the sentiment is undeniably the same) and he’s not dying (however if he has been infected with what the Healers believe then death won’t be far off) and that Morgana never did what their father wanted anyway (of course, neither did Arthur) but he hasn’t the energy. The past 48 hours have been hellish and exhausting and the only saving grace about this whole situation is that he’s going to the one place that actually feels like home.

He and his sister have a complicated relationship with their father, a man absent more than he was present. Morgana had never seen eye to eye with him, always arguing his political beliefs, pushing him to change his mind, questioning his authority. Their father would smile and pat her on the head and applaud her interest in politics. If Arthur had acted that way…well he certainly wouldn’t have been applauded. Where Morgana got praise, Arthur got disappointment. His father constantly pitted the two of them against one another in every aspect of their life and Morgana always won.

Arthur worked tirelessly to get the best grades in the year (where he came in second, _thankfully_ not to Morgana), he got ten OWLS (two more than his sister), was named Quidditch Captain in his fifth year, was sorted into his father’s own house (Morgana went to Slytherin for gods sake), and yet still Morgana was the golden child and Arthur was the disappointment. Morgana always told him not to care about what the older man thought. It wasn’t until his fifth year that he started to believe her.

Now his father was dying. This morning at the hospital might be the last time he ever saw him but the man (barely grasping consciousness) was more worried about how it would look if his children didn’t show up for school and he sent them off without so much as a “goodbye.”

Morgana lets out a humorless chuckle. “And our Uncle has made it perfectly clear that we aren’t welcome.” And that was really the cherry on top of the shit show sundae. Even if their father hadn’t sent them away, Agravaine had practically thrown them out of the hospital with strict orders not to return without his permission.

Agravaine who had shown up out-of-the-blue at the beginning of summer. Agravaine who his father openly detested suddenly moved in to an empty room in the manner. Agravaine who now was responsible for making decisions about his father’s health, his position, and clearly his children.

The whole situation was disgusting and suspicious and Arthur wanted to shut his brain off entirely before he thought too much about what it might mean. It certainly wasn’t his job to figure it out.

“Knock, knock.” Gwen’s face is peaking through the sliding door, hopeful and earnest. Morgana looks to Arthur who just shrugs. Neither of them are terribly good at telling Gwen “no.” She lets herself in followed by Lance (a tactical choice on their friends' part, he’s sure). Morgana and he had always kept a wide separation between their friend groups; desperate to not have to be near one another while at school. It wasn’t until the end of last year that they started to bleed together. Arthur can’t decide if he wants to clot the wound before its too late.

Morgana wipes her face. “I don’t want to talk about it,” her tone if firm but much nicer than it had been when she was talking to Arthur. Gwen only nods and sits next to her and holds her hand. Lance seats himself on Arthur’s bench with nothing but a squeeze to his shoulder to let him know he’s there. Arthur returns his forehead to he chill of the glass but feels a little lighter than he did before. His friends exist outside the world of magical attacks and politics and it almost seems as if everything that’s happened is a distant dream and here in this train car is what is real and possible. And who knows, maybe his friends will help him forget about everything and maybe his father won’t die and this experience will make him stop being an asshole and maybe his biggest worry will actually be if he can finally best Merlin Emrys’ grades this year.

He won’t hold his breath but a boy’s got to dream.

\--

Merlin’s late to the feast, which isn’t all that surprising as he’s been late for the past three years But this year he actually has a good excuse, sort of, well he has _an excuse_ , which is more than he usually has. He stumbles in through the main doors, green tie eschew, hair rumpled from the wind, and outer cloak missing. The feast is well under way and hardly anyone take notice of him. From across the hall, Gaius seated at the front table hits him with the infamous eyebrow and he quickly skitters over to the Slytherin table. Gwen catches his eye from her seat at the Hufflepuff table, sandwiched between Percival and _George of all people_ , and just shakes her head at him.

“Dinit fink you’d make it!” Will greets when Merlin folds himself into the seat next to him.

Merlin makes a show of wiping the food Will has sprayed on him and hits his shoulder affectionately. “You know I like to make an entrance.”

Freya laughs across from him. “I think it’s less that you _like_ to make an entrance and more that you can’t help it.”

“There was a threstral! It had gotten lost!” Merlin explains, piling his plate with food.

Morgana laughs next to Freya. Merlin’s gaze snaps up to hers. “Merlin, you can’t even see thestrals,” she says in her usual scathing tone. He tries not to study her too closely. She’s certainly as beautiful as ever, her long hair worn down, the green of her robes making her eyes glow, but her smile is tight and pinched, her eyes keep drifting over Merlin’s shoulder to the other side of the room where he suspects he will find Arthur sitting. Mordred is on her right and gives a subtle shake of his head, curls bouncing. Right, better not ask.

Morgana has never hid her ill feelings toward her father but Merlin imagined that it couldn’t be easy to watch the man who raised you be reduced to madness.

He takes a huge bite of mashed potatoes. “That’s why it was so hard to get it back into the barn.”

“You walked it all the way to the barn?” Morgana admonishes.

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Obviously, _it was lost_. Plus I threw my cloak over it so I could see it.” He taps his fingers to his temple. “Smart.”

Morgana raises an eyebrow. “And where is your cloak now?”

Merlin blushes. “It seemed to like it…” And then Morgana throws her head back and laughs big and loud and real. Merlin watches all his friends relax slightly at the sound. She’ll be okay. It’s going to be painful and arduous but if all it takes to get her to smile is for Merlin to accidently give magical creatures his clothing then he is all too happy to oblige.

The feast passes quickly after that, his friends sharing their most humiliating stories from the summer holidays to keep the mood light. Will’s dramatic re-telling of Merlin lighting the Forbidden Forest on fire draws attention from several tables over.

Merlin laughs along but only half pays attention. After he finished with his chores he had grabbed as many newspapers as he could to read up on the political situation. It didn’t look good. Unless Uther was officially ousted or died, Agravaine could continue ruling as Interim Minister. An uneasiness settled low in Merlin’s stomach. He couldn’t help but feel like something awful was happening. And he was just sitting here, eating cauldron cakes, watching the world burn.

(That was probably a little dramatic. But his gut feelings rarely lead him astray.)

As his friends make their way from the hall he notices they have formed a bit of a semi-circle, with Morgana firmly placed in the middle. Will has his arms crossed and glares at anyone who so much as dares to look in their direction as they make their way toward the dungeons. A hoard of second-years shrinks under the gaze and run ahead of them.

Merlin spares one last look over his shoulder before they descend the main stairs. His eyes lock with the other Pendragon sibling, clear on the other side of the hall, surrounded by his Gryffindor classmates. But where Morgana is safely tucked away in the midst of friends, Arthur is at the front of the charge, eyes angry enough to dare anyone to make contact, jaw so tight the muscle might very well snap. Merlin is inexplicably struck with an image from a dream, of a man about to face a dragon with his knights ready at his command. Arthur nods once, snapping Merlin back to reality, and Merlin can’t quite parse what the other boy means by it. But even as he descends the stairs he can’t help but feel like Arthur is staring at the back of his neck. He’s probably plotting ways to make Merlin’s life miserable.

Right?

The common room looks the same as always. He loves the dim lighting, the sunken dark wood floors, the deep greens and silvers that make it seem like the room is inside a bottle of absinthe, the huge window looking into the lake is a cloudy as ever and nebulous shapes move across it in leisurely patterns; its beautiful in a dark and brooding way. Morgana excuses herself almost immediately with Freya quickly following. The boys shrug and head to their own dorm. Will immediately throws himself on his bed and glares at Aithusa.

“Are you sure your cat doesn’t hate me?” He eyes Aithusa warily. She has made herself comfortable on Will’s pillows and is retracting her claws one-by-one as she stares him down.

Merlin bites back a smile. “I’ve never claimed she doesn’t hate you.”

Will shakes his head. He reaches out a hand to scratch Aithusa’s ears to which the cat hisses and bares her tiny canines, hair on her spine stood at attention. Will yelps and jumps onto Merlin’s bed instead. “Should have gotten an owl like a normal kid.”

“Maybe if you didn’t talk about her that way, she’d like you more.”

Mordred sighs. “Can we please talk about something that matters?” Aithusa hisses at Mordred. When Merlin was young he was convinced she was really a wizard who was just posing as a cat. She was far too sentient. He had not quite given up his beliefs in that particular fantasy.

Merlin plops down next to Will and Aithusa immediately jumps into his lap to make herself comfortable. Will mumbles something that sounds like, _bloody cat whisperer_ , and returns to his bed. “Do you mean you want to talk about Morgana?” Merlin asks.

“Obviously,” Mordred says. “I can’t believe she’s here. I know her and her dad weren’t on the best of terms but…shouldn’t she, I don’t know, take some time to process everything?” Mordred lowers his voice. “What if he dies and she’s not there?”

Merlin scratches Aithusa behind the ears triggering a motor like rumble from the small creature. He has had all these same thoughts. He hadn’t expected her to be at school at all yet she and her brother were here. But he knew enough about their family to know what that meant. “It probably wasn’t her choice.”

Will sat up straighter. “You think Arthur made her?”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Christ, everyone claims I am his arch-nemesis but you are the one who always wants him to be the villain.” Will scoffs. Merlin ignores him. “I think that Uther Pendragon is a man who is all about appearances. Even in his…state he likely wants to pretend that everything is fine. Sending his kids to school is the easiest way to do that.”

“Gods,” Mordred says. “Someone needs to talk to her.”

“By someone, you mean Merlin right?” Will asks.

Merlin rolls his eyes again. At the rate he was going they were going to get stuck looking at the back of his head. “Well, he certainly didn’t mean you Will. You aren’t exactly good with feelings or emotions or words.” A pillow is lobbed at him from the direction of Will’s bed and Merlin halts it midair, tossing it back with a flick of his wrist. Will lets out an ‘ooff.’ He may have tossed it harder than he meant to. He also promised his mom not to use as much wandless magic this year. The older he got, the harder it was becoming to control. He hadn’t even made it twenty-four hours. That did not bode well for the rest of the year. “But why me? Gwen is her best friend.”

“Emrys.” Merlin winces. Mordred only uses his last name when he thinks he’s being an idiot. “Gwen lives in a completely different dorm and someone should talk to her sooner rather than later. Just to let her know that her friends are here for her.” Merlin tries to interrupt but Mordred just holds up a hand. “You are the only person she talks to about anything real besides Gwen. She trusts you.”

Merlin blows a gust of air out of his mouth. He knows they’re right but he has no idea what to say. He wasn’t kidding when he said Gwen should do it. Though he made fun of Will, he wasn’t too good with words either. He was a pretty good listener but he really doubted Morgana wanted to talk about anything. “Fine. I’ll find her before classes tomorrow.” Mordred looks like he wants to argue. “She is already in her dorm and its after hours. With any luck she’s already asleep.”

Mordred nods once. “Good.”

Will looks between the two of them. “Can I go back to complaining about Merlin’s cat now?”

Mordred waves a hand in front of him. “Be my guest.”

Merlin leans on his bed and ignores his friends. Sixth Year is proving to be exactly like every other year at Hogwarts. Maybe all his worries are unfounded after all.


	2. Chapter 2

The silence of the library is a welcome respite. The dark oak shelves tower to the ceiling, absorbing any stray noises filtering into the room from the ancient windows. This type of silence that stems from a lack of bodies occupying a space for an extended period of time is one that is intimately familiar. It is a silence the Pendragons were born and raised in. It is a second home.

Morgana stands on her tiptoes to reach the top of the shelf when a familiar slender figure blocks her light, plucking the book down for her. She snatches it from his hands without looking at him. “I’m going to tell you the same thing I told everyone else, Merlin. I don’t want to talk about it.”

He’s wearing his sad kitten expression (a term Lance once used that Morgana hastily appropriated). Fortunately, she has had years to build up immunity.

Merlin sighs, casually perusing the books on the shelf. “We just care about you, Morgs. A grave mistake I’m sure but we can’t help it.” She rolls her eyes. “And you don’t have to talk. I just want you to know that I’m here for you.” He shrugs. “We all are.”

Morgana swallows. “I know -- I just -- I can’t --” She looks at him desperately begging him to understand. How is she supposed to talk about how she _saw_ this happen and no one believed her? How is she supposed to explain that she feels such sorrow for a man who belittles her and Arthur at every opportunity? Not to mention the guilt she feels because of said sorrow. And how does she know this ailment isn’t already happening to her?

And how is she supposed to explain that her Uncle is _Up to Something_ and the only evidence she has is the slightly nauseous feeling she gets whenever she lays eyes on him?

Merlin squeezes her shoulder. “Not now. But when you’re ready. How about now you tell me why you’re in the library at the arse crack of dawn grabbing books about,” he looks at the spine before him, “prophetic dreams?” His brow furrows. “Are your nightmares back?”

Morgana tosses her hair over her shoulder in a haughty expression (a Pendragon trademark). She wants to tell him that as a Seer her nightmares never left. She will always be cursed with visions no matter how she tries to suppress and control them and he should keep his nose out of other people’s business. Too late she remembers that Merlin knows all her tells, he’ll be able to see her nerves a mile away. Morgana, Merlin, and Gwen have been thick as thieves since the very first day of classes. Even is their little group has expanded over the past few years, Merlin still knew her better than she knew herself. He patiently waits while she deflates.

It’s time for a calculated risk.

She clutches the book against her chest protectively. “How much do you know about Seers and prophecies?”

Merlin gives a sheepish grin. “Not nearly as much as you do, I’m sure.”

She can trust Merlin. She’s always trusted Merlin. If anyone could understand what the hell she was dealing with, it would probably _be_ Merlin. She licks her lips, eyes darting around them ensuring they are alone. “When my dreams first started they were always of the future. Of events that haven’t happened but could.”

“Riiiiiiight,” Merlin draws out the word like he’s trying to catch up with where Morgana’s thoughts are. Impatient bastard.

“But recently,” she presses on before he can try and guess what she means, “I think I’ve been seeing the past.” She studies him closely but his expression is still one of interest and concern, not judgment or skepticism. “Except I know it can’t be the past because _I’m_ in the dreams and everyone I’ve ever bloody met is there too.”

She hasn’t told anyone. It had started the previous summer and the only people she had been around where her father and Arthur and (much to her ire) Agravaine. Her father wouldn’t have cared and the last thing she was going to do was make Arthur worry for her even more.

She’d rather die than let Agravaine so much as know her favorite color.

Merlin tilts his head to the side, his “thinking” expression. “Is that… _a thing_?” She smirks and Merlin blushes. He has certainly never had a way with words.

“Well I don’t know, _Mer_ lin. Why do you think I am scouring the library at the arse crack of dawn?” She gestures to the books around them. “I’m trying to figure out if that is even possible or normal or I’m going as crazy as my _father_.” She hisses the last word and closes her eyes tight against the sting.

She feels Merlin’s arms wrap around her and she leans into him breathing deeply.

“You aren’t going mad Morgana.” He says it with such conviction that Morgana wants more than anything to believe him. But he can’t know. After a few minutes he asks, “what do you see?”

Fires. Sorcerers tied to wooden beams on top of a pile of kindling set ablaze. She hears their screams and smells the burning of flesh as she looks down at a courtyard. Her father is always on a balcony looking down at the scene, wearing a crown. Sometimes Arthur is there, wearing red and watching the people burn.

They’ve gotten more detailed since they started. The last one she had was a scene of her father curled up and crying on the floor of a bedroom that wasn’t his staring at the dripping figure of a drowned boy. The nightmare was intercut with scenes from a press conference he hadn’t yet held, the dream now in modern times, where he collapsed and looked exactly as he had in that bedroom. Pale, ashen, afraid.

The last image she saw burned into her retinas was Agravaine’s wide, predatory smile.

“I think it’s some kind of witch trial.” She speaks into Merlin’s chest, scared he’ll be able to read the half-truths in her eyes, see that far more is going on than she’s willing to share. “Except…my father is presiding over the trial. In clothing out of the middle ages. Which can’t be possible, can it?”

Merlin stiffens. “Have you told your brother?”

Morgana pushes him away. “No! And under no circumstances can you tell him either. He’ll just worry unnecessarily and he has plenty to worry about with our father.” She picks her bag up off the floor and stuffs the books she wants inside. “I won’t even tell him I talked to you this morning or he’ll start some sort of elaborate conspiracy theory and accidentally stumble upon the truth.” It had happened more than once during their childhood. Don’t let Arthur discover a mystery or he won’t find peace until he solves it.

Merlin nods to the door. “Might be difficult. Pretty sure he just saw us.”

“ _What_?” Morgana turns and set off after her errant brother. Oh gods what if he had overheard? He was probably heading off to interrogate the Divination instructor Trelawney or the Ancient Prophecies instructor Nimeuh. She had to intercept him. She looks back at Merlin. “What are you waiting for, come on! You said you wanted to help me didn’t you?”

She ignores Merlin’s mumbled, “yeah but I didn’t quite envision this.”

\--

Arthur wakes well before dawn after a night of little to no sleep; the crimson bed curtains are more burgundy in the nonexistent light of the room. He’s nervous in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. Usually he likes being the center of attention but only when he’s the one controlling the narrative. There are too many factors outside his control to get any sort of grasp on the wisps of this story.

His friends made it clear the previous night they were more than willing to listen but he feigned sleep early and shut the blood red tapestry, barring him from sight. He could hear Leon, Lance, Gwaine, and Elyan whispering to one another and he knew it was about him. They only wanted to help so he tried not to be angry about it. He wasn’t succeeding.

He dresses in his uniform, wraps his cloak tight around his shoulder to fight off the early morning chill, and heads to the kitchens, walking the well-worn stone to the lower level of the castle. It’s still too early for any food to be out in the Great Hall and likely the only people there will be Gaius and McGonagall or worse _Longbottom_ and he really doesn’t need their looks of sympathy right now. The house elves greet him with smiles and hand him a basket of pastries along with a mug of coffee. He thanks them and promises to visit again soon to sit down for tea. It’s not his first early morning visit and he tries not to think too hard about what it means that the house elves likely know more about his breakfast preferences than his father.

He doesn’t want to see anyone. The library is probably a safe bet. He learned long ago he could bribe the librarian Madam Pince with pastries to let him in early. He’s distantly surprised that the door is already propped open, torches lit. Someone had the same idea he did. He turns the corner to his favorite table and stops dead in his tracks.

There before him stand his sister and Merlin Emrys locked in a tight embrace. His sister’s head is buried in his chest and his arms are wrapped securely around her back. He’s looking down at her and rubbing a hand through her hair, whispering soothing words too soft for Arthur to catch.

Something hot and boiling twists in his gut. He turns on the spot and flees the library, vision red with rage.

Who did _Merlin Emrys_ think he was? It wasn’t enough to beat Arthur in grades every goddamn year or win the House Cup at the last possible moment by saving an owl from the whomping willow, _oh no_ , now he had to make a move on his sister in her time of need?

( _That’s not why you’re angry_ , an honest voice within him hisses, he ignores it.)

He hears footsteps behind him and ducks behind a tapestry into a hidden alcove, quieting his ragged breathing. He still has the basket of pastries and mug of coffee clutched in his hands.

“You’re sure you saw him?” Morgana. Her voice is faint, like she is at the end of the hall, just outside the library.

“Yeah, pretty sure no one else has that arrogant of a stride.” _Emrys_. Arthur seethes further at the dig at his expense. ( _You’ve said worse about Merlin_ , the honest voice says. _Yeah but I didn’t mean it_ , he answers).

Morgana sighs. She sounds tired. The way she used to when she first started having nightmares, before she realized she was a Seer and learned how to control them. Until that one earlier this week (unless she had been lying, unless everyone around him was always lying). “Gods, he probably didn’t sleep last night if he’s up this early. We’ve got to find him.”

Merlin makes some kind of squawking noise. “We? Your brother hates me.”

(No, he really doesn’t).

Morgana scoffs. “No he doesn’t. He’s just too emotionally constipated to have any bloody manners.” Arthur silently fumes at this. How dare Morgana talk about him with his _enemy_. “Could you just do a lap around the floor? See if he’s brooding in any corners? I’ll check his usual haunts before I head down to breakfast.” There’s a pause. “Please? You’re helping me, remember?” From Morgana’s tone, he knows she’s batting her eyelashes. Shameless harpy.

Merlin caves like the bloody weakling he is. “Alright fine.” He wants to hit something, he needs to hit something. The footsteps fade and he leans against the cool brick of the wall silently raging. Some part of him (likely the same part that speaks his uncomfortable truths) knows he is being irrational but everything is so messed up right now he can’t bring himself to care.

He’s lost in the spiral of his anger and doesn’t notice the person standing outside his alcove until it is flooded with torchlight.

Merlin stands there with a carefully blank expression, likely judging his basket of food and his now cold coffee. “Did you hear all that?” He winces as he says it like he knows it’s not the right thing to say. His hair is its usual unruly mess (longer than we wore it fifth year, gently curling at the ends, over his ears) and he fills the doorway more than he would have the previous year. The green and silver tie around his neck is loose, his collar open at the throat (uniform violation). It looks like he might be a smidge taller than Arthur now and for some reason that is the last straw.

Arthur’s moving before he has given himself permission. Distantly he hears the thud of his basket and the shattering of the mug, but Merlin is backed against the wall across from where he just stood, both of them hidden in the dark behind the tapestry, Arthur’s wand pressed into his throat. Merlin’s mouth is open and his eyes are wide in fear. _Good_.

“ _Leave my sister alone_ ,” Arthur snarls.

Merlin’s expression twists into one of fury. That’s even better. Arthur wants a fight. “Are you kidding me, _Pendragon_?”

Arthur presses closer. His wand pushes further into Merlin’ throat his other hand gripping his bicep, pinning him to the wall. “Does it look like I’m kidding, _Emrys_?”

Merlin is right angry now, breath hot against Arthur’s face. “You really think I was making a pass at your sister?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Arthur hisses, leaning closer nearly brushing his nose. “And if you have any sense, you will back off. She’s been hurt enough and she doesn’t need anyone preying on her while she’s vulnerable.”

Merlin’s deep blue eyes (ocean blue, night-sky-on-a full-moon blue, _shut up_ ) rove over his face for a moment before he relaxes against the wall, rounding his shoulders so Arthur stands a smidge taller than him. He shakes his head as he studies Arthur. “I don’t know if I’m more offended about your opinion of my character or if I’m more impressed with how utterly oblivious you are.”

His expression isn’t angry anymore. It’s amused, his eyebrows raised, his lips quirked (oh god), and his eyes alight (oh double god, nothing good ever comes from an amused Merlin). It’s a dangerous expression for Arthur to be so close to. It’s largely the reason Arthur tries so hard to keep him annoyed and angry. An amused Merlin makes Arthur want to do very idiotic things.

Arthur staggers back before he does something really stupid but keeps his wand raised. “What?”

Merlin crosses his arms. “Arthur. First of all, you know me well enough to know that I wouldn’t do that to someone.” Several retaliations are on the tip of his tongue but the sound of his first name on Merlin’s lips stops him in his tracks. He’s pretty sure it’s the first time he’s ever called him Arthur. And Merlin doesn’t even seem to notice, plowing through his speech like he hasn’t just stopped Arthur’s heart. “Second, I’m pretty sure Morgana can more than handle herself and would eat anyone alive who tried to take advantage of her.” More arguments spring to mind but the next reason truly short-circuits Arthur’s brain. “And third of all, I’m gay so Morgana isn’t exactly my type.”

Arthur open and closes his mouth. He blinks one too many times. He’s not sure what he wants to say, well he’s not sure what he _should_ say. He lowers his wand. “I…didn’t know you were gay.” He cringes. Not the best response.

Merlin shrugs one shoulder, not looking comfortable anymore. “It’s not like it’s a secret but it’s not something I shout from the Astronomy Tower.” He looks at Arthur with something close to trepidation and determination, eyes hard. Merlin has a knack for mastering conflicting expressions with just one look. He cocks one eyebrow. “Is that weird for you, Pendragon?”

Arthur huffs indignantly. “No of course not! I am a member of LGBT Club! I’m friends with _Gwaine_! I was the one who suggested we add anti-discrimination clauses to the student handbook! I…” he trails off as he catches Merlin’s expression, knocking the wind right out of him. He’s smiling, teeth and everything, dimples out for the world to see (an equally dangerous expression). It takes a few seconds for his brain to kick back into action. “You’re teasing me.”

“Please, teasing makes it sound like I enjoy it.” His smile is still out in full force. Arthur’s feeling a bit light headed. They are probably unrelated. Desperate to look away from Merlin, Arthur kneels down to clean up his breakfast mess from the floor. The pastries are all right and a quick flick of his wand repairs the mug but the coffee has disappeared into the cracks in the ancient stone floor. Merlin, the kind bastard, sits across from him and hands him a baked good.

Arthur sits back against the wall. “Sorry.”

“For accusing me of taking advantage of your sister’s delicate sensibilities or for pinning me against the wall in a darkened closet?”

Arthur’s cheeks flush. If he didn’t know any better, he might think this was flirting. “Believe me Emrys, if I cornered you in a darkened closet you would be thanking me.” Shit, is he flirting? Merlin laughs and the tense angry coil within him loosens just slightly. “But, erm, I mean for taking all my anger out on you. You don’t deserve it.”

He can feel Merlin studying him but he just bites into his breakfast instead. “Well, thanks but I’m kind of immune to your Pendragon prattishness.” Arthur looks up and Merlin is smiling again. Shit. “Best you take out your rage on somehow whose built up immunity. I pity the unvaccinated fool you set your sights on if not me.”

Arthur laughs, loud an unexpected. He’s flooded with relief so rapidly he just might sink clean through the floor.

Merlin somehow knows exactly what to say to make him feel better, to let him know that he didn’t mind the fighting, and if Arthur needed to start a fake argument ( _Flirtation?_ , the honest voice asks, _Absolutely NOT_ , he answers) to let off some steam, he wouldn’t care. He remembers watching Morgana the previous evening and how tense she was until Merlin had stumbled into his seat (without even his cloak on, the _idiot_ ) and then she was laughing with abandon.

“I’ll make sure you die a martyr.”

Merlin laughs, helping himself to a cheese danish as the two sit in silence. The bell tolls loudly letting them know that most of the castle is probably awake by now, eating breakfast. Arthur’s friends would be worried. But neither he nor Merlin move.

Merlin clears his throat. “I know we’re not…friends,” that’s a bit of an understatement seeing as their feud had landed the two of them in detention more times than they could count, “but if you ever need to talk…” he trails off, shrugging. “Sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone you aren’t as close to.”

It’s hard to swallow for a minute but Arthur chokes the crumbs down. “Thank you.” Merlin smiles again and Arthur wants desperately to keep it there. “Maybe in the midst of beating you in DADA this year, I’ll catch you for a heart-to-heart.”

Merlin grins. “I’ll believe that when I see it, Pendragon.”

Arthur’s heart definitely doesn’t pick up double time. Not at all. And if it did it can be attributed to the stress of his father falling ill and absolutely nothing to do with Merlin fucking Emrys.

\--

The office is dignified and luxurious. Deep oak paneling encases the room and seeps seamlessly into a matching floor. The bookshelves that frame the desk climb the entirety of the wall. The books on these shelves are in impeccable order, indicative of a thorough love and appreciation on the part of the owner, organized by subject and further alphabetized by author. An enormous wooden desk with an equally large burgundy leather chair dominates the rather spacious room. The shape of a small gold dragon is stitched into one of the armrests. Two green velvet chairs face the desk, shorter and smaller, and likely uncomfortably narrow for most visitors (an intimidation tactic to be sure).

There is not a single personal effect in the room save the brass nameplate on the desk and its twin on the door that reads: Uther Pendragon, Minister for Magic.

Agravaine clicks his tongue at it. He’s going to need to get that replaced. Not too quickly, he wouldn’t want to arouse too much suspicion. It’s fortunate that Uther Pendragon was so unpopular amongst his colleagues. Many were so desperate to see him go that they haven’t paid Agravaine any attention. All the better.

He gives the books a once over. By the end of the day, they will be in scattered piles around the room as his assistant and some lower level interns scour the pages under Agravaine’s orders. (He won’t find what he’s looking for just yet, but he does not know it at the moment).

 _Two raps -- a pause -- a rap -- a pause -- two more knocks_ sound on the other side of the heavy door.

“Enter.” He sits himself behind the desk and steeples his hands before him, elbows resting over a huge stack of parchment he had painstaking read through at least several dozen times over the course of the past eight years. Ever since his dear brother-in-law was elected Minister. The parchment is yellow and brittle with age. It is currently the most important thing in Agravaine’s possession.

His assistant skirts into the room, silently closing the door behind him. His movements are quick, rapid: beady eyes darting about to take in his surroundings, noting potential threats and escapes; fingers twitching, reminiscent of a pianist desperate for keys. But Cedric Cole is no musician, if he was Agravaine would have no use for him.

“Cedric,” Agravaine offers a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes and sweeps out a hand to gesture to the seats before him. “Please, sit.” The lanky man nearly folds in half as he sits in the too low chair. It makes him look much younger than his 18 years of age. “What have you found out?”

Cedric licks his lips, eyes never still for long. “It’s like you said, there’s a lot of unrest. Most people are just happy Uther’s gone. You might be able to get some of them to back you when you move to keep the seat.” He shifts forward in the little chair, wiping his palms on his mustard color pants. “There is a group who is already writing a petition to hold an emergency election.”

Agravaine sighs, he assumed as much. “The self-proclaimed Freedom Fighters? Led by Hermione Granger, no doubt.” Cedric twitches, it might be a nod. “It’s no matter, I intend to call the Wizengamot to Council today.” He drums his fingers over the stiff paper, a pleasant crinkling noise sounding with the tap of each fingertip. “I have another job for you.” Cedric sits up straighter. “While I am in Council today I need you to meet with Department Heads’ assistants. I want a list of which Departments are on my side and which I need to look out for.”

Cedric twitches again. “Alright.” He grabs a slim black notebook from his breast pocket. “I’m going to go ahead and write down the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as a ‘no.’” Agravaine clenches his teeth. Hermione Granger was going to make all of his plans rather difficult to achieve as long as she was head of that bloody department.

“That’s fine. And there’s something else I need you to ask about. But you cannot draw any attention to the fact that I’m looking into it.” His hands tighten around the weathered document on his desk, a relic of a by-gone era. “The last thing I need is the _Freedom Fighters_ getting wind of it.”

Cedric twitches. “Of course, boss. What do you want to know?”

Agravaine’s smile spreads molasses-slow, until his shark-like grin stretches from ear-to-ear. “What do you know about the Legend of Excalibur?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Updates will (hopefully) be weekly from now on. I have most of the story outlined and a fair bit written so as long as everything goes well *crosses fingers* updates will be regular.
> 
> 2) Should have said this at the beginning but this fic is canon compliant up to the epilogue of HP Book 7 and takes place in the future of the HP Universe but the story is about Merlin characters
> 
> 3) Thanks for reading :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update 1-1-2020: A new opening scene has been added to the first chapter. The rest of the content is the same but it has been edited and paired down slightly.

The first week of classes is shockingly normal. While a steady hiss of whispers still trail either Pendragon through the halls and quite a few students now regularly follow the current political situation, waiting for the other shoe to drop, classes carry on as scheduled.

With one startling difference.

“ _What do you mean we have partners in every class this year_?” Merlin hisses on his way to the first lecture of term.

Freya shrugs in something akin to apology. “I don’t know what to tell you, Merlin. That’s what happens in sixth year. You get to pick your classes, so naturally there has to be consequences.”

Merlin valiantly doesn’t pout. Much.

Freya pats his shoulder. “You’re gonna be spending a lot of time with Pendragon.”

Merlin valiantly doesn’t blush. Much.

He’s not sure where he stands with Arthur now. They’ve always had a tumultuous relationship. Their encounter first year had become the stuff of legends: Merlin yelling at Arthur for being a bully, Arthur grabbing a sword from a suit of armor, Merlin pinning him to the wall without uttering a single spell. It was enemies at first sight.

As far as Merlin was concerned, Arthur had all of the Gryffindor arrogance and none of the nobility.

(Merlin mentioned as much to Lance during detention in second year (how Lance ended up in detention Merlin still wasn’t sure but he was probably covering for someone and it was probably Arthur).

Lance had just shaken his head. “You don’t really know him, Merlin.”

Merlin looked up from the shield he was polishing in full offense. “He charmed my cauldron to explode, Lance. It could have killed me!”

“Didn’t he do that because you gave him donkey ears?”

Merlin threw his arms up. “He laughs like a donkey. It was too obvious! Plus he dyed Aithusa green!”

“I think something about you just brings out the worst in him.” Lance shrugged and Merlin rolled his eyes.

“Cheers for the mate.”)

But sometime around fourth year, Arthur stopped with his pranks or maybe Merlin stopped retaliating. And even though he’s pretty sure they don’t hate each other anymore they still argued something fierce and competed every in class. Truthfully, Merlin had Arthur to thank for his grades, he definitely wouldn’t be motivated enough to do as well if he wasn’t trying to spite someone.

But because Merlin was so determined to get top marks no one would partner with him for fear of letting him down ( _sorry mate_ , Lance had told him, _you look like a drowned kitten when you do poorly and I can’t be the reason that expression is on your face_ ). And because a certain Gryffindor was a right terror to work with (see arrogance and prattishness) Merlin and Arthur were constantly the last two standing.

Which meant…

“Oh gods,” Merlin moans, entering the Potions classroom. Arthur’s already there glaring a hole into the chalkboard. Morgana smirks rather devilishly from the back of the classroom as Freya slips into the empty seat beside her. Despite their conversation that morning, Merlin doubts he and Arthur will suddenly be best friends. Plus Arthur really is a terror to work with.

He takes the only remaining vacant seat and shoots a glare at Gwaine and Percival seated at the table behind them. The two of them are suppressing smirks. Traitors. The lot of them.

“Truce?” Merlin asks, hand extended. Arthur's lips press together and he cuts his eyes to the side, assessing Merlin. Merlin looks for any signs of the vulnerability from earlier but Arthur’s face is a sculpted mask of neutrality.

After a weighted moment, Arthur takes his hand in a firm grip. They shake once. Merlin’s not sure how hard Arthur gripped his hand but it feels oddly tingly when they let go. The Great Brute probably broke all the bones in his fingers. But Arthur is smiling at him and all his higher brain functions decide to vacate the premise.

(The most evil thing about Arthur Pendragon by far is how distractingly handsome he is, _the bastard_.)

Merlin doesn’t realize he’s smiling back until Gwaine leans across the table behind them and says, “geez you two get a room.”

With a flick of his hand Gwaine’s chair goes toppling over. Oops, more wandless magic. He gives Gaius a sheepish shrug and the old man just heaves a long-suffering sigh, takes ten points from Slytherin, and begins the potion lesson. Arthur and Merlin do not speak.

Classes the rest of the week yield the same results; Arthur and Merlin sit next to each other in a tense silence (at least they aren’t fighting?). Transfiguration offers the added bonus of Kilgharrah assigning a joint essay right at the close of the lecture.

Merlin decides to break the stalemate. “So, are you free tonight?”

“What?” Arthur asks.

Merlin stares at him. “To work on the assignment…that we were just assigned….moments ago…I’m fairly positive you were sitting next to me…Kilgharrah was talking about a weird coin metaphor?”

Arthur scoffs. “Yes I remember the assignment, _Em_ rys. I have rounds. We’ll do it tomorrow.” Arthur turns on his heel.

Merlin glares at his back. “Don’t worry about my schedule or anything seeing as the world revolves around you!” So much for trying to get along.

Merlin is still scowling as he reads the Friday evening paper on the front lawn.

“Anything good?” Mordred asks, throwing himself on the ground.

Will settles in on his other side and attempts to pry the paper from Merlin’s hands. “Or should we say anything bad?”

Merlin clutches the newspaper tighter to his chest. The weather is near perfect. The school grounds are overflowing with students basking in the sun, catching the fading rays, celebrating surviving the first week. It makes Merlin scowl harder.

His eyes catch on a group of second years laughing and pushing one another closer and closer to the whomping willow.

He purses his lips. “Someone should stop them.”

Will hums. “Probably a prefect.”

Merlin looks over at Mordred’s badge shining in the sunlight. “Such a shame we don’t know any.”

Mordred flashes a rude gesture, making no move to stand. “It’s a valuable lesson to learn. So come on, what horrifying things are happening now?”

Merlin sighs, opening the _Daily Prophet_ across his lap. “Oh you know, just Agravaine calling for a meeting of the Wizengamot and citing a doctrine from Wizard’s Council that secures his position as Minister for the foreseeable future.” Will swears colorfully.

Mordred takes in a sharp breath. “The Wizard’s Council was abolished in the 1400’s.”

Merlin hums. “Yes. Evidently they never got around to officially absolving all the laws. I shudder to think what he intends to unearth next.”

Mordred shakes his head. “And we thought Uther was bad.”

Will snatches the paper from Merlin’s grip. “I’m kind of surprised Agravaine’s the one making a pass for the throne. He always struck me as more of a leech. He wants to be near the power but doesn’t want to do any of the work.”

“It’s not a throne, Will.”

Will leans forward. “Well, people like you and me and Mordred and everyday folks don’t get to vote, just some super secret society of wizards. Sounds like a throne to me.” Will’s not wrong but Merlin’s not sure he’s in the mood to fall down that particular rabbit hole at the moment.

Merlin stares at the second years. One of them gets too close and a thick branch from the tree punts them across the lawn, arms flailing as they soar through the sky. Arthur appears practically out of thin air, waving his wand, depositing the student safely on the grass and turning his fuming on the group of children. One of them sways on their feet as if they are about to pass out in fear.

“You’re glaring, mate,” Will tells him. “Was your best friend not nice to you this week? It was you who said I always see him as a villain wasn’t it? So how is the hero of Hogwarts treating you?”

Merlin sighs. “Not any different than usual. Maybe less blatant antagonism, more cold shoulder.”

It wasn’t that he thought everything was going to be different after having a heart-to-heart in a hidden room behind a curtain, it was just that he thought everything was going to be different after a heart-to-heart in a hidden room behind a curtain. And Arthur had seemed receptive to the idea when Merlin extended an olive branch. So why did it seem like nothing changed?

“Despite what Will thinks,” Mordred says with a look at his friend, “Arthur’s a good guy. He’s just going through a lot right now. Maybe you should try being nice.” Merlin gives him a dubious look. “I mean it! You guys are competitive right? Start being nice to him and then he’ll try to out-nice you back.” It isn’t a terrible plan. And it seems a bit healthier than Merlin’s idea of seething angrily for the remainder of the year.

Will leans forward. “But if you are going to kill him, at least wait until next week. I’ve got money on who is throwing the first punch and when. And I can’t lose any more bets to Gwaine, at this point I might owe him my first born child.”

Mordred does a terrible job of suppressing a snort.

“This is why I prefer to hang out with Morgana and Gwen, you guys are the worst.” This just causes them to laugh harder. “Plus,” Merlin says, standing and brushing off his trousers, “Mordred’s plan might actually work as Arthur and I have declared a truce.”

Will gives him a shit-eating-grin. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

With a nod of his head and flash of his eyes, Merlin throws Will across the lawn toward the sentient tree.

The shrieks from the second years are nearly drowned out by Will’s colorful cursing, Mordred’s high-pitched cackling, and Arthur’s bellow of, “ _Emrys_!” but Merlin’s already racing back toward the building before anyone can catch him.

\--

The portrait at the end of the corridor greets Morgana with a dramatic, low bow.

She smiles in return. “Sir Cadogan.”

He inclines his head, “the Lady Morgana. I was wondering when you’d make your way to this part of the castle. I imagine she’ll be expecting you.” Morgana offers a polite smile of thanks. She knows many students are not terribly fond of the portrait, but Sir Cadogan has always been nice to her, if a bit ridiculous at times. It must come with the territory of being a lesser-known knight of the round table, by muggle standards at least.

Morgana knocks tentatively on the door twice in rapid succession. The door creaks forward against its own volition, slow enough for momentum to close it once more. She peaks her head in. The office looks like it always does: tapestries hanging from the walls, enough candles lit to burn down the whole building, the huge stone basin dead center in the room full to the brim with water, the smell of incense clinging to the particles of air.

“Professor Nimueh?”

Morgana takes a few tentative steps into the space, allowing the door to swing shut behind her.

“Morgana,” Nimeuh smiles from her desk in the corner. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” She moves around her desk and gestures for Morgana to sit on one of the cushions on the floor.

Morgana settles next to her professor and bites her lip. “I just have some questions about…my dreams.”

Nimeuh’s brows furrow. She hadn’t had a problem with her Sight since Gaius suggested she seek Nimeuh’s council second-year. “What seems to be the problem?”

“It’s just --“ she didn’t know how much to share. She licks her lips and takes a deep breath. “Is it…is it possible to have dreams of events that have already come to pass?”

Nimeuh nods. “Yes, it’s not uncommon for Seers to review their memories when they are using their Sight. Particularly if something has jogged your memory of a previous time.”

Morgana blows out a breath, pushing her long hair out of her eyes, looks down at her bitten nails. She makes a note to have Gwen fix them later. “What about…seeing things that aren’t memories but definitely take place in the past?”

Nimeuh takes in a quick breath, so fast Morgana almost misses it. When she looks up at her teacher’s face, the expression is of gentle concern but Morgana knows she heard something. “Morgana, what are you Seeing?”

Morgana swallows. “I don’t know…exactly. The clothing looks like its out of the Dark Ages and there are kings and knights and magical creatures. And the people almost look like people I know.” The people definitely look like people she knows but she’s not sure if she should say that part. Nimeuh’s eyes are huge and fear begins to trickle down her spine. “Is that bad?”

“No, Morgana, no,” Nimeuh pats her hand reassuringly. “And you’re sure they aren’t normal dreams?”

Morgana firmly shakes her head. “No. They are definitely Visions. My dreams are less concrete. And these are crystal clear just like when I see the future, except the colors are slightly off, slightly faded.” Like a picture left too long in the sun.

“Right, well regardless, there’s nothing wrong with Seeing the past.” Morgana sags against the cushion in relief. “It’s just a very rare gift, it develops from Old Magic. Only the most powerful Seers can even view the past on purpose. I don’t think anyone has been able to do this in…at least a century.”

Morgana’s jaw drops. “A century?”

Nimeuh smiles. “I meant what I said when you came to me all those years ago, Morgana. Your powers are destined for greatness.” She reaches for a book off her desk. “Here, I believe this will be of far more use for you than it is for me.”

Morgana feels something electric sting her hands when she grabs it, forces herself not to jerk away from the contact. The book is bound in leather, the pages within time-soft, the ink smeared to the point of near illegibility. Her heartbeat echoes in her ears, an old and distant drum.

Nimeuh calls her back to reality. “It is a book on Old Magic. The practice and all that it entails.” The book seems to pulse at her words.

Morgana shakes her head to clear it. “Thank you, professor, but…we talked about Old Magic in first year and it’s gone, isn’t it? The Great Warlock Merlin was the last to wield it.”

“Perhaps it has decided to return.” Nimueh shrugs. “With you.”

“Fucking hell,” her eyes widen, “sorry.” Nimeuh just waves her off. Morgana was hoping that Nimueh would tell her that everything was normal. This was…a lot. But she still has one pressing concern. “What if -- these Visions I’m having -- what if I’m in them and my father and my friends, is that… _something_?”

“Maybe it’s a coincidence.” Nimeuh’s smile is teasing, eyes bright.

“I thought you didn’t believe in coincidences?” Morgana asks.

Nimeuh stands and extinguishes all of the candles with a sweep or her hand. The bell signaling first class chimes. “I don’t. The question you need to ask yourself Morgana is, do you?”

\--

The truce is…dangerous. Arthur prefers to keep Merlin at arm’s length but his initial plan of ignoring Merlin entirely is quickly scrapped when Merlin decides to plant himself by Arthur’s side. All. The. Time.

Just a few weeks into term and Merlin is at his breakfast table in the morning and snatching his notes off his side of the desk in Charms and smirking at him over piles of homework in the library and reading the paper over his shoulder at dinner and watching his fucking Quidditch practices with Gwen and Morgana yelling rather vulgar catcalls at his team.

(He’s not envious that he has not been on the receiving end of one of Merlin’s catcalls because it would be weird to feel that way; he’s certainly not jealous that even Lance gets a few suggestive comments about what else he is welcome to ride even though Merlin is literally standing next to Lance’s girlfriend; and he has absolutely no feelings about the shameless flirtations that Gwaine throws back.)

Arthur knows why he doesn’t want to get close to Merlin; he’s not too proud to admit that he was slightly jealous of Merlin. Merlin with his effortless kindness and charming personality who has almost all of Hogwarts wrapped around his finger. That should have been Arthur as far as he was concerned. And when Arthur first arrived at school and his only goal was to make his father proud it seemed like the only thing that stood in his way was Merlin Emrys.

But the truce makes things complicated. Because Merlin is always there. And its hard to be jealous of someone being so nice to you and Arthur was starting to genuinely like Merlin and, as Arthur may have mentioned, Merlin. Is. Always. There.

Arthur is almost grateful for the late night prefect rounds he’s assigned. It’s the only time of day he has without…

“Emrys?” The boy jumps, his head cracking against the window he’s propped himself against clad in striped pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt, hair more disheveled than usual.

It’s well past midnight, the castle cold with the chill of night, a full day of Monday classes waiting for them in the morning. “…what are you doing?”

It’s dark but it seems like Merlin is blushing. “I just come up here sometimes, when I can’t sleep.” He gestures to the area around them. They’re high up in one of the towers, Arthur is fairly sure a rarely used Potions classroom sits at the top. Merlin is wedged on a window seat, back to the glass staring at a painting of what appears to be a medieval castle. Merlin flashes him a nervous grin. His long fingers pat the seat next to him and the corner of one side of his mouth curls up, “want to join me?”

Arthur crosses his arms. “I should report you.” He’s not going to and Merlin seems to know it because he’s already beaming wider and it takes everything in Arthur’s power not to smile back. He makes a show of rolling his eyes and sits next to Merlin. It’s a pretty wide seat so they are a good arms reach apart (a wise safety precaution).

Arthur studies the painting. A full moon shines down on the stone walls of the castle, a few fat turrets are clearly visible. Tiny red flags adorned with some kind of gold creature wave at what is likely the entrance gate. At the top of the tallest turret, two small figures are looking out over the scene. Something aches from deep within as he studies it.

“They aren’t always there,” Merlin says, gesturing to the figures. “But if they are, it’s always the two of them. Sometimes there are other people walking around. Once I’m pretty sure I saw a dragon flying.”

Arthur hums. “What’s it called?”

Merlin glances up at him through his lashes, moonlight cutting his cheeks in sharp shadows. Arthur’s mouth feels weirdly dry. “ _Camelot_.”

It takes a minute for Arthur to process what he’s said but then he’s laughing. “Oh my god _shut up_ ,” Merlin hisses, hitting him on the arm. “We’re gonna get in trouble.”

“Merlin and Arthur?” He asks, trying to pull himself together. “Sitting in front of a painting of Camelot? Come on, they’re gonna write ballads about this!”

Merlin’s lips quirk up at the corner. “Who is gonna write ballads?”

“Well, I don’t know. They cut literature courses here like a century ago.” Arthur wipes the tears from his eyes, Merlin looks like he’s trying very hard not to smile. “Also, we’re not going to get caught, I’m a prefect I’m supposed to be here.”

“So what? You’ll say you caught me to save yourself?”

Arthur nods solemnly. “Immediately and without hesitation, Emrys. I am notoriously selfish.”

Merlin leans forward with a wicked gleam in his eye. Arthur’s chest constricts. “I know you better than that, Pendragon. The selfishness is an act to throw people off. You’re just as foolishly noble as all the other Gryffindors and would probably do something ridiculous like take the fall so I didn’t get in trouble.”

He’s right but Arthur won’t confirm it. “Oh yeah? And what would a dastardly Slytherin do? Frame me and save yourself.”

Merlin scoffs and leans back. Arthur relaxes slightly. “Please, my house is known for being cunning. I’d create a distraction and we’d both get away with it.” Merlin taps two fingers to his temple. “Smart.”

They sit in silence and stare at the painting. Arthur feels a sense of calm descend over him that he hasn’t felt all year.

“They think my father was attacked.” The words are out before he can filter them. Something about the painting or the moonlight or maybe just Merlin makes him want to alleviate his burden.

If Merlin is surprised by the change in conversation he doesn’t show it. He just nods his head once and motions for Arthur to go on.

Arthur scrubs a hand over his face and turns back to _Camelot_. “There have always been assassination attempts on my father even before he became Minister. He has never been a popular man.” He knows the other boy must hate his father and probably wished him dead. Merlin’s friend Will had certainly said so loudly and in Arthur’s presence on more than one occasion. “They haven’t any idea what he was enchanted with but whatever it was they think…”

“It causes madness,” Merlin’s voice is soft. His hand finds its way to Arthur’s and he gives a squeeze. Arthur squeezes back. He doesn’t know how to keep going. Merlin seems to understand. “How long do they think this has been going on?”

Arthur shakes his head. “I have no idea. I’ve been doing some reading but there should have been signs, constantly. All the potions that cause insanity exhibit symptoms almost immediately. But he was just himself one day and then he broke down the next.” ( _Unless this has been going on for years and his horrible policies are all just a part of this_.) “And all the good books are in the restricted section anyway,” Arthur grouses.

Merlin sits up straighter. “Well I can get you in there.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

Merlin grins and points at his chest. “Slytherin.”

“Okay, yeah, that’d be great.” More time with Merlin isn’t ideal but if he could know more he’d feel better.

“But that’s not it,” Merlin guesses. One day when Arthur isn’t as exhausted he’s going to be impressed and a little scarred with how well Merlin can read him.

Arthur sighs. “No. You know about Morgana’s Visions?” Merlin nods. “Well usually she’s able to control them. Nimeuh says she’s never seen talent quite like hers.” Pride colors his voice, he’d never tell Morgana but he was always really impressed with her skills. He was shit at Divination. “But sometimes really powerful Visions will slip through.” He swallows. Merlin squeezes his hand again. “The week before my father’s collapse Morgana saw it.”

Merlin shudders a breath. “Poor Morgana.”

“I know. She was beside herself.” He can see her face, eyes red, cheeks tearstained as she shook Arthur awake that morning. “Father completely dismissed it. He’s always believed Seers were a lesser branch of magic and he didn’t even take the time to hear her out.” He clenches his fist once. There are many things he can’t forgive his father for but the way he patronized Morgana as she stood before him, chin held high, would always top the list. “And Agravaine…” Gods, where to start with _Agravaine_?

Merlin looks thoughtful. “He dismissed her too?”

Well, that was certainly part of it. “Yes. He said it was probably a _normal dream_ , as if someone with Morgana’s skills wouldn’t be able to tell the difference,” he scoffs. “After that, there wasn’t really anything to do.” Arthur shrugs. He can still see his father on his hospital bed, pale and ashen, and mumbling incoherence.

“Morgana blames herself?” Merlin says it like a question but he clearly already knows the answer. Gods how had Arthur ever thought he stood a chance at besting Emrys in school? He’s clearly some kind of bloody genius. He gives Merlin a nod. Merlin tilts his head. “And somehow you are blaming yourself too?”

Arthur flushes and scowls. “I should have made him see reason or told a member of his personal security Auror team or argued more when Agravaine made us leave.” Arthur shakes his head. “I certainly don’t agree with my father on everything but, gods, he’s still my father.” Arthur laughs. “Did you know Agravaine told St. Mungo’s that no one can receive updates on my fathers condition, not even Morgana and I?” He runs a hand through his hair. “I just…I don’t like feeling powerless.”

Merlin licks his lips and leans forward. “Arthur,” Merlin says his name like no one ever has before and something in Arthur catches, “this might be out of line and feel free to push me out that window if I’ve offended you,” Arthur lets out a loose chuckle, “but I could help you research the enchantment.” Merlin’s eyes are huge and bright in the moonlight, a gold flare against the midnight blue as he tries to hold back his excitement. “We could figure out what it is and send word to St. Mungo’s.”

Arthur furrows his brow. “Don’t you think they already know?”

Merlin ducks his head. “Probably, but wouldn’t it make you feel better to have your own answers?” It would. Maybe it would help settle this hopeless restless energy he can’t seem to shake.

Maybe it would help him know for sure if it was Agravaine who did it in the first place.

“Alright,” he agrees. Merlin beams and Arthur’s pulse thrums in his ears. This is probably a bad idea. “When do we start?”

Merlin jumps to his feet. He’s barefoot and Arthur has to bite his tongue before he berates Merlin for not wearing shoes and the likeliness that one of these days he’s going to catch a cold. Gods he sounds like an 80-year-old grandmother. “Now!”

Arthur crosses his arms. “ _Em_ rys, it’s the middle of the night.”

Merlin juts out his chin. “That’s the best time to break into the Restricted Section.”

“Why don’t we shoot for Saturday night that way neither of us have class the next day?”

Merlin pouts and it takes all of Arthur’s willpower not to cave immediately. “Fine.” Merlin holds out his hand and Arthur reluctantly shakes it. A spark of _something_ jolts through Arthur where their hands meet. Then Merlin grins a rather wolfish smile. “It’s a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Comments and Kudos appreciated :)


	4. Chapter 4

Midnight conversations aside, Arthur Pendragon is a still a huge, Class A Prat. Merlin has always been impulsive but inviting someone who dislikes him to break curfew for a bit of robbery is really one of his stupider ideas. Particularly because that person is a ticking time bomb of suppressed emotion and now it seems like its _Merlin’s_ job to stop the detonation before the end of the week.

The days leading up to the heist do nothing to soothe Merlin’s nerves.

On Tuesday Arthur accosts Professor Binns mid-lecture for skipping over the Werewolf Persecution in the 1400’s. “We spent ages talking about the Wizard’s Council but you didn’t even mention that the formation of the modern Ministry was a direct response to the Shape-shifting Wizards fight for independence!”

Binns attempts to get the lecture on track, “an elective course is available if that interests you --”

This sets Arthur off further. “Why is it that the actions of wizards are studied as ‘History’ but the actions of those considered Magical Creatures are taught as an ‘elective?’” The air is sucked from the room as the class takes in a sharp collective breath.

Arthur is standing, hands gripping the table before him. Merlin wonders if he’s supposed to stop this but he would much rather have Arthur release his bad mood on the teacher. Plus he agrees with Arthur.

Arthur leans forward. “Is it perhaps because our books are written by the same people who did that persecution and prevented their freedom? And that the institution continues to be upheld by those who refuse to learn from the past?”

The second hand on Merlin’s watch ticks loudly nearly forty times before their professor lets out one huge breath (which is quite impressive coming from a ghost). “We will discuss it next week, Mr. Pendragon.” Merlin gives Arthur a thumbs-up under the desk. He only receives a scowl in response.

Wednesday’s lesson in Transfiguration on enchanting gargoyles is a _disaster_. Arthur (despite Merlin’s warnings) does nothing to relax before casting his spell and his gargoyle attacks Merlin’s (much nicer) gargoyle and then after reducing it to a pile of rubble, turns on the rest of the class (students and gargoyles alike). Merlin and Arthur lead an admirable offense with the assistance of Gwaine and Lance, but the gargoyle has a lust for blood and takes the classroom in no time, baring the students from the room. Professor Kilgharrah emerges covered in scrapes.

“Did you get it?” Elena asks, biting her lip.

A loud caw sounds from outside and the class turns to watch something gray streak across the window. Arthur blanches. Professor Kilgharrah clenches his jaw. “It has, unfortunately, escaped. A search party will be assembled for anyone interested in extra credit.”

(The gargoyle is still at large).

In an act of desperation, on Thursday he seeks out Morgana’s council. She waves off his concerns, not even halting her stride. “He stews, he broods, he erupts; it’s easier to just make sure you aren’t too close to the blast when he goes off.” She shrugs and heads toward their dorm.

“Aren’t you coming to lunch?” He has hardly seen Morgana the past two weeks.

Morgana sighs. “No, I’ve got to work on that Potions Essay.”

“But that’s not due for ages,” Merlin calls after her. She’s already gone.

Friday, Merlin is so attuned to Arthur’s moods and actions, he completely forgets to look out for himself.

“I can’t believe it, Emrys!” Julius sneers from the back of the group heading toward Care of Magical Creatures, passing by the greenhouses. “You’ve finally found a hairstyle that almost covers your elephant ears!”

The group walking to class is small, and everyone stops at Julius’ words. Merlin ignores Gwen’s frantic whisper of “just ignore him” and turns to face Julius in the middle of the group. Julius hasn’t scared him in a long time.

“That’s funny, Borden. I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be clever?”

He sees Gwen and Lance wince in unison. Someone behind him sighs (he’s pretty sure it’s Mordred).

The tension in the group is thick. The students form a loose circle with Merlin and Julius facing off in the center. It feels a bit like a muggle teen movie he once watched at Gwen’s. Mithian hauls Elena out of the line of fire. Julius isn’t stupid enough to try anything with all these people around. Probably.

Julius’ nostrils flare. “You think you’re hot shit Emrys because you coast through classes with your _devil’s magic_ ,” Merlin flinches at that, it isn’t his fault wandless magic is so second nature to him, “and you have all the teachers fooled. But I know what you really are.” Julius takes a step closer until he is practically nose-to-nose with Merlin. “You’re a monster just like your father before you.”

White rage licks through him fast as fire. His magic sings in his veins, charged lightning ready to strike. For a moment he exists outside his body, his magic taking control. He clenches his hand once, trying to contain the power that is desperate to rip Julius apart. Then a fist connects with Julius’ jaw, the distinctive crack of bone jerks him back into his body.

Merlin blinks twice to take in the scene. He’s firmly rooted to the ground, hand clenched at his side, but Arthur is now between him and Julius. And Julius is on the ground swearing, holding a hand to his face. Merlin’s mouth is agape. Did Arthur just… _defend him_?

Julius, so stupid for someone who’s House prides itself on intelligence, glares up at Arthur. “Should have figured you’d defend him, _Pendragon_ , seeing as you have your own daddy issues.”

Arthur snarls and pushes Julius back into the ground, his fists connecting with Julius’ face. Merlin rushes forward and with the help of Lance and Mordred they haul Arthur off Julius. Wild, uncontained rage fills Arthur’s eyes.

“Arthur,” he says, squeezing his shoulder, “he’s not worth it.”

Arthur starts at his name. With a look at his hands he swallows thickly. His knuckles are pretty bloodied for someone who only landed a few punches. Merlin glances over at the blood gushing from Julius’ nose.

Julius had it coming.

Arthur’s looking at Merlin, his blue eyes wide (arctic blue, clear-sky-on-a-summer-day blue, _wait what?)_ and Merlin realizes how close they still are. His hand still on the broad shoulder, his body angled between Arthur and Julius. Arthur looks so sad and broken and it is apparent that he is not handling his father’s ailment as well as he is pretending. For the first time Merlin thinks that maybe their planned weekend adventure might be a good idea.

Merlin doesn’t know what to say. He licks his lips, unsure, watching as Arthur tracks the motion with his eyes. His magic flares hot in his veins once more.

“Mr. Pendragon!” Professor Longbottom’s voice is loud. Merlin falls away from Arthur. Their teacher likely witnessed the scene through the windows of the garden structure. “You are to report to the Headmistress’ office immediately. Mr. Borden you may go to the infirmary after which you will also report to the office.” A chorus of protests erupts from the group. Professor Longbottom holds up a hand to silence them. “Should we need any witness statements, you will be summoned.”

The man gives each student a grave look and then holds out a hand to help Arthur to his feet. Arthur doesn’t look back at Merlin.

Gwen tugs at his hand. “We’re going to be late.” They were definitely already late but Merlin nods and the group begins its trek toward the hut at the edge of the forest once more.

Merlin bites his lip. He wants to run to Headmistress McGonagall and tell her that the whole thing was _Julius’ fault_ and Arthur shouldn’t get in trouble. He has no idea where this urge to protect Arthur has come from but he feels it deep in his bones. He also kind of wants to hit Arthur for being so stupid.

The group is silent until Elena claps her hands together. “Too bad Longbottom showed up, I’d have liked to have a go at Borden too.”

“Elena!” Mithian nervously glances at Merlin but he only smiles at Elena who beams back.

“You know we all think you’re great, don’t you Merlin?” She asks, voice low and kind in a trademark Hufflepuff way.

Merlin smiles to which Mordred groans loudly. “Gods, _please_ don’t feed his ego anymore, it’s the last thing we all need.” The tension breaks as everyone laughs.

And the first lesson is on kneazles which turn out to be great fun and Merlin doesn’t think about Arthur once or worry about him or try to leave class early only to be stopped by Gwen’s firm grip on his shoulder, keeping him seated on his tree stump.

\--

Morgana’s hands clutch the quill firm enough that the shaft splinters, cracking every few minutes as her grip tightens with each tick of the clock on the front wall. It’s an analog clock and matches the other muggle furniture in the room. Their teacher is wearing muggle fashion as she does each class: denim coveralls, a pink crop top _over_ the coveralls, vomit green rain boots, a men’s bowtie, and a sunhat that is so wide she is forced to tilt her head at increasingly more difficult angles in order to reach the chalkboard.

Honestly, it’s not her worst look.

The class usually passes with Gwen and Morgana sliding notes across the desk mocking the various ways their teacher manages to _just_ miss the mark. Why they don’t have someone who actually _grew up_ in the muggle world teach the class, is a mystery. But today, Morgana is too focused on counting down the seconds until she can leave, lock herself away in her dorm, and get her hands on the _book_.

The clock might be moving in slow motion.

Gwen shoots her another look and Morgana can _feel_ her worry. The only reason Gwen signed up for this class was to spend time with Morgana. Gwen has aspirations to be a Healer and it isn’t as if she even needs Muggle Studies. But Morgana solely chose classes on how likely they were to piss off her father so their schedules rarely overlap. This class was their chance to spend time together. And Morgana has been ignoring her.

She knows Gwen has a lot she wants to talk about, what with Arthur beating up that dumb Ravenclaw this morning. (It occurs to her that she probably needs to check on her brother.)

Morgana feels bad for ignoring Gwen (and Arthur) but the only thing she can think about is Old Magic. The book is _addicting_. She turns each frail page with a gentle reverence, her hands tingling from the energy radiating off the parchment. Some are so blurred that she can’t read them, others have handwritten notes in the margins, all of them signed with a swooping M. Reading the book feels like she’s in one of her Visions, her skin prickling, the taste of something bitter and biting on her tongue, and the world crackling with possibilities.

From what she understands, Old Magic is just the very magic of the earth itself, woven into the fabric of the universe. So even if the Great Warlock Merlin (who she’s really hoping is the mysterious M) was the last to wield it, the magic should still be accessible, in the ground she walks on, the air she breathes, and last night…she _felt_ it.

The bell chimes and Morgana jumps. She throws the fractured quill into her bag and races from the room. In the hall, a sharp tug on her wrists stops her in her tracks. She bites back the snarl she wants to throw at the person.

Gwen is looking at her with huge eyes, not letting her wrist go. “I’m worried, Morgana.”

“About Arthur?” she scoffs. “Don’t be, he used to punch people all the time when we were young. He’s probably punishing himself more than anyone else will.” She turns to leave. Gwen grips her tighter.

She receives an admonishing look. “I know something is going on Morgana, you can’t lie to me.”

Anger bubbles up her throat. “Yes, _Gwen_. My father is dying, I think my uncle had something to do with it, my brother is a boiling volcano of anger, and I can’t make sense of my Visions anymore. Obviously _something is going on_ ,” she hisses leaning close to her best friends face.

Gwen takes a step back, stunned, still clutching her wrist. Her brown eyes narrow and she juts out her chin. “No. You’re still lying. You might be able to deflect with everyone else but you can’t lie to me.”

Morgana looks down at where their skin meets: Gwen’s warm fingers against Morgana’s snow cold wrist. This was why they were best friends. No one else was willing to push Morgana so hard when she isolated herself in her kingdom of solitude. No one else was willing to brave the virulent, icy waves that Morgana would throw on those who dared cross the borders. And no one else could convince her to leave that world behind. Not even Arthur.

She wants to tell Gwen about the book but she’s not ready. She doesn’t have enough information yet. Because she knows what’s going to happen when she tells Gwen. Gwen is going to convince her to stop.

Morgana looks up at her friend. “I’ll tell you soon, I promise. I just need to sort some stuff out on my own first.”

Gwen furrows her brow, studying her. For a moment Morgana’s worried that she might be reading her mind. “Whatever it is -- is it safe?”

Morgana nods. “Yes.”

It’s not the Old Magic she’s worried about. It’s the effect it seems to be having on her. She’s knows she's distracted and not studying as much as she should and ignoring her friends and she hasn’t thought about her father _once_ this past week and that’s bad. But she _felt_ it last night. It sung under her skin, golden like sunlight itself. She felt the magic in the stones of the castle and the water of the lake above her dorm, and in the feathers of her owl sleeping on her bedpost. And it was so _beautiful_ , just that _one second_ she tapped into it. She opened her eyes to a cold world without power stinging at the tips of her fingers and was only distantly surprised to find her cheeks wet with tears.

How could she not try again, just once?

Gwen doesn’t look convinced. “If something bad happens to you, you promise to tell me.” It’s not a question, it’s an order.

Morgana nods. “Yes, of course. I just need -- a few days and -- and then I should _know_.”

She has no idea what Gwen thinks is going on but at last she nods, releasing her. “Alright. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Morgana smiles. “Isn’t that usually your line for Merlin?”

Gwen shoulders her bag. “Yes, well it would seem that some of his impulsivity has rubbed off on you at last.” She shakes her head, still not quite smiling.

Morgana hugs Gwen farewell and practically _flies_ to the dorm.

It’s empty; all of her dorm mates are in class for at least another two hours. She throws her bag at the foot of the bed and rips the book out of the front pocket. She thought about leaving it in the dorm but it seemed too risky. Someone might find it.

Morgana crosses her legs in the center of her bed and opens the book on her lap, turning to the page she left off on the previous night. The ink drawing of a candle with a high flame creeps through the slanted writing, making it even harder to decipher. _Concentrate, relax, and sense the magic around you_ , M writes. _Then you must let it in._

It’s difficult, sensing it, letting it in. The magic she’s accustomed to using comes from within, the wand recognizing the magic, and then carries out her wishes. This is different, wild and uncontained, and _limitless_.

She takes in a deep breath, holds it. Her mind goes entirely blank until she can feel the faint thrumming of the life of the earth (this is where she lost it yesterday, too excited, too eager) she releases the breath slow as she can, keeping acute sense of the vibrations charging the world around her.

She whispers, “ _Forbearnan_.”

Wind gusts past her ears. Lightning cackles under her skin, through her veins, hot and fast and _burning_. Its violent and powerful and _good_. Just as fast it leaves her, feeling empty and bereft and vacant. Morgana gasps. She tries to push out her awareness to get it back, but its gone.

The smell of smoke fills her nostrils and she’s worried she accidently slipped into a Vision. But when she opens her eyes, she is very much in the present and her bed curtains are very much on fire.

She douses the flames with her wand, still gasping for air.

Then a huge smile breaks across her face.

Morgana Pendragon just used Old Magic.

\--

Borden leaves the office after being chewed out by McGonagall, head hung low. Arthur tries not to squirm in the chair now that he is alone in the room; the angry knot inside him is tight and presses on his lungs. McGonagall sighs and looks at him with watery eyes. Arthur swallows.

He should probably wait for her to dole out his punishment but he has never been good at waiting. He sat in the office for nearly an hour before she swept in with Longbottom, Flitwick, and a much less bruised Borden. Borden had tried to lie but was quickly cut off when Longbottom reminded him that he had heard the entire encounter at which point he paled considerably which made Arthur feel a bit better. Borden should suffer. When Arthur was questioned he just answered honestly. Borden was insulting and provoking Merlin so Arthur had stood up for him, albeit in a rather violent display.

(He supposes that’s one way to pay Merlin back for offering to help with Arthur’s research.)

Arthur can’t wait anymore. “Professor, I know what I did was wrong and I apologized to Borden,” (even though he deserves worse), “and I promise I will control my temper in the future. I know I dishonored my position as prefect as well as let my House down. Just…I’m prepared to face whatever punishment you think is appropriate.”

McGonagall continues to study him as do the sea of faces in the portraits behind her. It’s a bit disconcerting. After several years of his life, she sighs, “Arthur,” (it’s rarely good when someone says your name like that), “do you have someone to talk to?”

He clenches his fists until his knuckles are white and swallows. “That’s not why I hit him.”

McGonagall offers a small smile. “I imagine there are a great many reasons why you allowed your temper to get the best of you.” Arthur looks down. “It would be foolish to believe that this situation with your father is not affecting you at all.” He can’t meet her eyes. “Your Professors tell me you are distant in class.”

His temper flares (the same temper he just promised to get a hold of), “my grades are fine.”

McGonagall continues like he hasn’t interrupted. “If it would help, I could arrange for you to visit -- ”

“No.” It doesn’t matter how she plans on finishing the sentence, whether it be to see his father or some sort of counselor or gods forbid his _uncle_ , the answer is a resounding _no thanks_. “And I have been talking to someone.” He doesn’t add that the someone is _Merlin_ who on no less than seven occasions has sat right next to Arthur across from McGonagall getting reprimanded for their various altercations. And that Merlin’s immediate reaction to hearing of his plight was to suggest breaking a dozen school rules.

Her eyes study him for an eternity. Then she nods once. “Good.”

Arthur sits back, heavier than he has been since he got to school. McGonagall is filling out some sort of parchment on her desk. “So…am I not in trouble?”

She purses her lips but it looks to be in amusement. “Oh no, you are most certainly in trouble. I think fifty points from Gryffindor and a month assisting Professor Longbottom will do the job.” She hands him the parchment.

“A month?” he squeaks. He looks down at his sentencing.

“You will log fifteen hours a week. You may coordinate with Professor Longbottom the schedule.” She waves her wand and the door behind him opens. “You are dismissed.”

He descends the spiral staircase scowling at the paper. _Ugh_ , he’d rather take Borden’s punishment of working with Filch. Filch would have him clean toilets but Longbottom is going to have him up to his elbows in soil, trapped, and give him sympathetic looks until he cracks and spills his life story. A cunning woman McGonagall certainly is, probably could have been a Slytherin.

He stops outside the office door as a familiar figure jumps to his feet nervously running a hand through his messy hair. “Emrys? Have you been here the whole time?”

Merlin swallows. “Erm, no. But I noticed you weren’t at dinner and it’s my fault you are in trouble,” how Merlin came to that conclusion, Arthur hasn’t a clue, “so I brought you dinner,” he holds out the sack in his hands, “and I just thought, you know, you wouldn’t want to be alone.” Merlin shrugs. He bites his lip. His eyes are a huge fathomless blue.

It’s very hard to swallow. Arthur clears his throat. “Have you eaten?” Merlin shakes his head. “Are you hungry?”

Merlin grins and something in Arthur’s gut swoops low. “Starving.”

Arthur nods. “Want to share?”

Merlin nods and the angry knot inside him loosens ever so slightly.

\--

“Pendragon, I’m going to need you to calm down or I will just do this myself.”

He feels Arthur’s indignant huff against the hairs on the back of his neck. He doesn’t grace the Gryffindor Golden Boy with a glance, his eyes focused around the corner of the deserted hallway. He holds the squirming bundle tighter in his arms.

He’s beginning to regret even offering to do this for Arthur. Merlin was just trying to do something nice (thanks a lot _Mordred_ ) that Arthur would appreciate and possibly reciprocate and all of the problems between them would go away (he makes a mental note to stop being so optimistic). It doesn’t look like that’s going to happen because Merlin is going to _murder_ Arthur before the night is over.

Arthur is clearly out of practice breaking rules.

The previous evening after Merlin brought Arthur dinner (because, you know, he _did_ punch someone for him) Arthur took Merlin to the prefects’ common room to eat and study. Only Arthur spent the whole time hissing various concerns about the break-in and making Merlin describe each journey he’s ever taken into the Restricted Section in vivid detail ( _yes, Pendragon, I really just walked in, it’s not like it’s Gringotts_ ). It was like Arthur didn’t trust him.

Before they parted for the evening, Merlin’s patience had worn thin.

“Do you want out?” he asked Arthur point blank.

This was the wrong thing to say. Arthur drew himself up to his full height and met Merlin’s eyes with a glare. “Of course not.” _Ugh_ , stupid Gryffindors and their refusal to back down from challenges.

Merlin gave an insincere smile. “Great. Then how about you show a bit of that trademark bravery. See you at the kitchens at midnight tomorrow.”

Merlin was sort of hoping he wouldn’t show but of course when he rounded the corner there Pendragon stood. As they crept through the halls Arthur kept twitching and rocking back and forth on his heels and bumping into Merlin more times than he could count. It was _annoying_ , not to mention he was going to get the both of them caught and expelled.

Arthur huffs again and Merlin whips his head around to glare at him. “You need to be quiet or you are going to attract attention.”

Arthur crosses his arms. “ _I’m_ going to attract attention!” Arthur hisses, whisper-shouting. “ _You_ brought your _cat_ with you!”

Aithusa, sensing a conversation about her, wiggles in Merlin’s arms until he sets her on the ground. She weaves her way between Merlin’s legs and then does the same to Arthur. “ _She’s_ the most important part of this operation! Someone has to distract Filch and Mrs. Norris!”

“And your _cat_ is going to do that?” Arthur’s tone is mocking but he’s already bending down to scratch Aithusa behind the ears and make cooing noises at her. Aithusa rumbles happily in response.

Merlin shakes his head at her. How is it that his cat hates every other person in this school except Arthur bloody Pendragon?

A faint, angry hiss sounds from the direction of the perpendicular corridor. Merlin peers around the corner and watches a huge beastly shadow slink along the far wall, dancing in and out of the light from the single lit torch, its ears sharp and pointed, fur raised in stiff spikes along its spine. The shadow halts midway down the hall, head turned sharply to one side, ear twitching. It’s time to move.

Merlin squats down in front of Aithusa. “Alright Aithusa, I need you to lead Mrs. Norris to the other side of the castle, send Filch on a wild chase. Then head to Gaius’ classroom where I’ll pick you up in the morning.” The white cat blinks her ice blue eyes twice and leans forward on her front paws, bowing. She gives Arthur’s hand a nudge with her nose and then takes off, a blurring streak of white fur against the otherwise dark corridor.

Around the corner, Mrs. Norris yowls at an ear-piercing octave and when Merlin turns to look, her shadow has vanished. The sound of cats screaming at one another grows fainter.

He turns back to Arthur with a smile. “Coast is clear.”

Arthur’s mouth is wide open. “What just -- the cat --“ he shakes his head and stands. “Tell me, _Em_ rys. Is it your _cat_ that understands English or _you_ that speaks cat?”

“Probably a little of both, let’s move.”

The rest of the passages are silent and empty as they pad their way across the stone floor, the only sound their quiet breathing.

The library doors loom tall and ornate before him, locked. Merlin presses his palms against the surface and lets some of his magic seep into the wood. The bolt grinds as it slides against the metal casing, the lock clicks too loud. Merlin holds his breath and pushes the door open.

The library is as dark and still as the hallway. The door to Madam Pince’s sleeping chambers sits behind the reception desk. Before Merlin can raise his wand, Arthur throws a silencing charm at it. Arthur raises one eyebrow as if to say he’s not entirely useless. Maybe he’s not as out of practice as Merlin thought. Merlin throws a sticking charm to keep the door from opening (he’s not about to be outdone by Pendragon). Arthur rolls his eyes.

Merlin steps over the red velvet rope that bars the entrance to the Restricted Section (Hogwarts really should do something about the lax security). When Arthur sees that Merlin is still in one piece (the coward), he follows suit.

They decided the previous evening that they could only take a few books; if too many volumes went missing it would arouse suspicion. And if they were going to be breaking in on a regular basis, that was the last thing they needed. Merlin makes his way towards the poisons while Arthur heads toward the enchantments. The first book he finds on the shelf is oozing some sort of black ichor that is faintly steaming. He shrugs and wraps it carefully in burlap before putting it in his bag. He has a feeling it shouldn’t come in contact with his skin.

He makes his way down to a book adorned a skull and crossbones when a loud thud makes him freeze in his tracks. The sound of a door rattling in its frame, in loud thunderous slams, fills the once silent room. Arthur skids around the corner. “Time to go.”

“ _Obviously_.” Merlin throws the book in his bag and the two take off through the stacks, Merlin just one step behind Arthur. They hurdle the rope and sprint through the rest of the library, cutting through the labyrinth of books towering into the ceiling. Madame Pince’s door is bouncing in the frame, expanding and contracting as its hit with a barrage of spells, the librarian’s voice coming through as if filtered from underwater (she has quite a colorful vocabularly for a woman of her age).

They race past. At the entrance they turn in unison and wave their wands, removing the spells from the door. He hears Madam Pince fall through the door with a screech and another inventive curse but he and Arthur are already rounding the next corridor, leaving the library behind.

“ _I thought you said you do this all the time_ ,” Arthur hisses.

“I do! Sometimes she wakes up!”

“Well you didn’t _mention_ that part!” Arthur tries to break left but Merlin grabs his arm and drags him toward the right. Aithusa should have Filch climbing to the top of Ravenclaw tower at this point. They just have to outrun Madam Pince who is very old but she’s probably going to call for prefects to help the search so they need to --

“This way!”

They pound down the steps toward the dungeons, the castle a blur of stone around them, taking the corners fast enough to nearly lose their footing, which Merlin does, twice. Arthur hauls him back on his feet each time, not slowing down. They turn toward the Potions classroom only to skid to a halt. Two figures stand at the end of the hall, backs to them. Shit.

Before Arthur can make any sort of noise, Merlin clamps a hand over his mouth and drags him behind the nearest tapestry. There is, unfortunately, not a hidden room behind it and instead Merlin and Arthur press their backs against the wall, the thick woven fabric the only thing separating them from the hallway. Their feet are definitely visible if anyone looks too closely but there’s no time to move.

When he trusts that Arthur isn’t going to talk he removes his hand. The two of them breathe shallowly as the sounds of the voices draw near.

“We might as well call it a night, we aren’t going to find anything,” a male voice says. Prefects?

“Can’t believe you even talked me into this!” Another voice. “We aren’t getting paid nearly enough to go on scavenger hunts afterhours.” So not prefects?

“Come on. Cedric’s a pal and once we find it, we are going to be paid more than enough.” The voices are right in front of them now. Merlin holds his breath. Arthur’s shoulders stiffen as he does the same.

The voices pass by. “Yeah, yeah, I just wish we were looking for something less common. There’s got to be ten thousand swords in this bloody school.”

The voices fade leaving just Arthur and Merlin breathing quietly, pressed together from shoulder to elbow, hearts racing.

“I’m starting to think,” Arthur says slowly after several minutes of silence, “that I should have just let you do this yourself.”

Merlin turns to face him. “Does this mean you’re saying I was right?” Merlin asks with a grin.

Arthur rolls his eyes with his whole body. “Emrys?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos appreciated :)


	5. Chapter 5

The room is silent as a tomb. Morgana lies in bed listening, waiting, ensuring she is truly alone. Her pulse thrums electric in her veins.

(A distant part of her registers that this is not her bed and the colors are faded through the lens of time, but these thoughts will not come to the forefront of her mind until she awakens.)

With her eyes closed, she clutches the dagger beneath her pillow, the ice of the metal settling the beating of her heart.

Outside her chamber doors there is the sound of footsteps passing, men laughing, then silence.

Morgana hastens from bed, donning her blood red cloak, throwing the hood over her hair. She pulls the dagger from its hiding place, admires the jewels in the moonlight. It really is a beautiful dagger. Astonishing that it was a gift from Arthur.

Had he known it was going to be used to kill his father -- _no_ , she mentally chastens, gripping the weapon tighter, **_their_** _father_ \-- he never would have given it to her at all.

Morgana creeps though the castle, retracing steps she has taken one thousand times before. In but a few moments, she is in the King’s chambers, a shadow passing through the room.

(Fear is working its way down her spine, but not really, not _this_ Morgana who stands before her father full of a hatred and loathing so strong it eclipses all other emotion.)

Uther Pendragon is sleeping, blissfully unaware of the bastard daughter about to take her revenge. She raises the dagger high, heart thumping, power crackling just under her skin, the cool metallic taste of vengeance bitter at the back of her throat. She swings the dagger down, plunging it toward her father’s heart --

“NO!”

Morgana screams, bolting upright in bed, sweating and shaking and --

“Morgana!” Freya is next to her, wide-eyed, alert. She grabs her shoulders. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

Morgana inhales a few gasping breaths. She’s in her dorm, familiar silver and green tapestries surround her, her other roommates stare at her with looks of concern and fear (except Sophia who looks like she might murder Morgana for interrupting her sleep). She gives Freya a quick nod. Her friend waves off the other girls.

“I’m fine,” she says. Her voice is rough and hoarse. She swallows. “Just a Vision.”

It’s not a lie, not quite, but close enough that she feels guilty.

Freya sits next to her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Morgana shakes her head. “It’s not important. Just startled me, I guess,” she adds with a smile.

Freya gives her a skeptical look. “Do you want me to get Gwen?”

“ _No_ ,” Morgana says, too quickly. She still isn’t ready to tell Gwen, or Professor Nimueh (who would surely take the book back if she knew the effect it was having on her), or _anyone_ about Old Magic. Not until she had learned all she could from the book. Not until her dreams made sense again. And the more she used Old Magic, just the faint brushes she could manage, the clearer her Visions became.

Morgana tries for a bright smile. “I’m fine, really. Go back to sleep.”

“All right. But if you need anything, you’ll wake me?”

“Of course,” Morgana lies. Freya doesn’t look like she believes her but she goes back to her own bed anyway.

Morgana lies awake staring at the ceiling. This was the clearest Vision of the past she’s had, so clear she almost couldn’t distinguish she was in one. But what did it _mean_? It was all well and good that she could harness Old Magic (sort of, briefly, about 30 percent of the time she tried) and it was making her Visions clearer but what was the _point_ of any of that if she didn’t know what it meant?

(A small part of her hisses about the obvious interpretation. But her father couldn’t be dead, she would know, she would _feel_ it, she would See it in real time, wouldn’t she?)

Visions of the future were easy to interpret (relatively speaking); you would See what was going to happen and then act accordingly. There were varying schools of the thought on how much Seers should disclose about their Visions but Morgana firmly believed that if you were blessed with a Vision, it was because you were supposed to _do something_ about it. But if Morgana was getting Visions of the past, there wasn’t anything she _could do_ to stop events that had already transpired.

But Morgana isn’t just a Seer; she excels in Divination as well. It is a widely accepted fact that dreams, even ordinary ones, are useful in divining the future. Morgana has never given that branch of Divination any credence as her Visions are far more informative but maybe it is time she started.

Without waking her dorm mates (she’s not sure Sophia will be as understanding if she is disturbed a second time), Morgana grabs _The Dream Oracle_ from her bookshelf, draws her bed curtains, and starts reading.

\--

Lance wakes for an early start. It’s going to be a busy week. Arthur has been training them hard this season and with their first match on Saturday it was unlikely that he was going to let up anytime soon. Not to mention their first Transfiguration practical was coming up and the entire class was nervous about the Medusa curse they had been practicing _and_ he still needed to write essays for DADA and Charms.

Still half-asleep, he crosses the threshold in the near empty Great Hall and is surprised when he sees Arthur and Merlin seated at the end of one of the long tables, several books in front of them, far away from everyone else. He makes his way over to them, slowing his approach as he catches wisps of their conversation. They are arguing, not that that is terrible out of the ordinary.

“This _schedule_ ,” Merlin says, holding up a large color-coded stack of parchment, “says we won’t be done researching for _two years_.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “It’s an overestimation. I’m sure it won’t take us that long. I based it on _your_ assessment that there were 1,000 books in that section.”

“I was _joking_!” Merlin hisses.

“Maybe, but if each shelf has roughly thirty books and a case has --“

Merlin puts his hands over his ears. “ _Please_ don’t do maths at me. It’s worse than when you talk about _Quidditch_.” Lance rolls his eyes.

“Arguing before breakfast? I think that might be a record.” He sits himself down beside Merlin. Merlin gives a “yip” of surprise and shoves the schedule into his bag. Arthur grabs the large tome in front of him and slams it shut, resting his arms over it so Lance can’t see the cover. Lance narrows his eyes. “Are you two up to something?”

“ _What_?” Merlin says, “no. _Definitely_ not. Just studying. Can’t _believe_ Kilgharrah is giving us a practical. Although I am looking forward to turning Arthur to stone. It’d be a shame if I forgot the counter-curse.” He gives Arthur a cheeky smile. Arthur glares in response.

These two are truly awful liars. Lance schools his expression into one of curiosity. He nods at the book. “So what’s that, then?”

Arthur shakes his head and slides the book off the table, carefully concealing the cover. “Just part of an assignment.”

Merlin nods rather aggressively. “Thought we’d pick up an independent research project for Potions. You know it’s my favorite subject and Pendragon over here wants to pad his resume as much as he can for Auror Training.” Merlin points at Lance, eyes lighting up. “You should ask Gaius or Kilgharrah if you can pick up a project as well, since you want to become an Auror and all.” Arthur glares at Merlin and Merlin jumps, stifling a ‘yelp’ as if he just received a swift kick to the shin.

Lance presses his lips together. What Merlin lacks in skills of deception he certainly makes up for in the art of deflection.

Arthur’s eyes catch on the rest of their dorm mates approaching (so much for Lance’s early start) and he jerks his head toward the door. Merlin nods and the two hastily pack their belongings. They each give quick hellos and goodbyes before they scurry from the room.

Gwaine sits next to him, his head immediately connecting with the table and he moans. Elyan just shakes his head and slides a mug of coffee over to him.

Lance takes a thoughtful bite of toast. “Do you ever get the feeling that you’re missing something? But you’re not sure you want to find out what it is?”

Elyan nods, “almost all the time.” Gwaine makes some kind of noise that might be agreement.

Leon rolls his eyes. “If it isn’t your business,” he says with a pointed look at the direction Arthur went, “you should stay out of it.” He nods at Gwaine. “Gwaine has learned that lesson more times than I can count.”

“Then it sounds like he hasn’t really learned it,” Lance says.

Gwaine flashes a rude gesture.

Maybe Leon is right and the best way to deal with whatever Merlin and Arthur were up to was to let them come to him in their own time.

Gwen sits down on his other side and he feels his face break into a smile. She gives him a gentle nudge with her elbow. “Worried about Merlin and Arthur?”

Lance nods. Gwen looks over to where Morgana sits across the room with several books open in front of her visibly scribbling away. “Worried about Morgana?”

Gwen sighs. The two of them watch as the other Pendragon grabs all the books, throws them in her bag, and sprints from the room as fast as her brother did.

“They’ll be alright, yeah?” Lance asks, pushing his plate towards Gwen.

She smiles and helps herself to the food. “I suppose, as long as they have us looking out for them.”

It’s Lance’s turn to sigh. “I was afraid you would say something like that.”

\--

It would be nice if her powers of Sight showed her the very immediate future, Morgana thinks as she rounds the corner to the Divination wing and collides with Professor Kilgharrah.

Morgana has spent the past two days cataloguing every detail she can remember of the Vision; cross referencing a dozen different books on dream interpretation, prophecies, and even literary symbolism (just in case it was relevant and she needed to write a paper for Muggle Studies anyway); and attempting to trigger another Vision by using Old Magic, all to no avail (though she did light her bed curtains on fire again).

She finally decided that she should consult actual experts in the field without giving away too much information (particularly the near obsession with Old Magic and the lighting her bed on fire bit).

Professor Kilgharrah reaches out his arms to steady her. “The young Pendragon witch,” he greets. “You are in a great hurry this morning.”

Morgana tries not to glare at the old bag of bones blocking her path. She’s never liked the Transfiguration professor and was thrilled when she removed the class from her schedule.

Morgana throws her hair over her shoulder and gives an incredibly saccharine smile. “My apologies, professor. I wanted to talk to Professor Nimueh before classes this morning.”

Kilgharrah hums. “I was hoping to catch her as well but I’m afraid it seems she is out. It appears there is a Divination Department Meeting?” Morgana suppresses a smirk. It was a well-known fact that her two favorite teachers did not get along; the meeting would probably take _hours_. “I’m sure you could leave a note for her.”

“It’s kind of personal.” She’s not sure she wants a note that says, _What do you think it means that I had a dream where I stabbed my father?_ signed with her name sitting out in the open (she’s hoping it doesn’t mean her father is _dead_ , someone would have told her, right?).

Kilgharrah nods at the portrait at the end of the hall. “Why not leave it with Sir Cadogan?” Morgana must look confused because Kilgharrah gives a throaty chuckle and motions for her to follow. “Come, I’ll show you.”

The knight visibly brightens when they approach and greets them with his usual bow. “The Lady Morgana! What a pleasant early morning surprise.”

“Sir Cadogan. Would you be willing to pass a note along to Professor Nimueh for Miss Pendragon?” Kilgharrah asks.

Sir Cadogan straightens at once, so quick his helmet clamps shut. He readjusts his visor. “Of course! It would be an honor to be of service to you, Lady Morgana. I will guard it with my life.”

Kilgharrah laughs again. “I’m sure it will not come to that.” He nods at Morgana. She hastily scrambles to pull a scrap of parchment from her bag and explain the dream to Nimueh, leaving out anything about Old Magic.

She rolls it tight and wraps a hair tie around it to keep it closed. “Erm…now what?”

Kilgharrah gives a toothy smile and taps his wand to the portrait. “ _Animatis picturae_.”

The surface of the picture ripples the way a stone skips across a lake. Sir Cadogan bows low, offering his hand. Morgana looks to Kilgharrah who nods. She holds her note up to the portrait and pushes, the painting seeping around it, watching as it sinks into the surface with a _plop_. Sir Cadogan grabs it and hides it away in his armor.

Morgana blinks, stunned. How is it they never covered _that_ when she was in Transfiguration?

“Thank you, sir,” she says, not really directing it at either of her companions. Sir Cadogan takes the sentiment to heart and bows low at her words.

Kilgharrah merely inclines his head. “I’m glad I could help you on your journey, young Pendragon.” The warning bell sounds. “I think we both better be off before we are late.”

The dismissal is clear and it is only as she hurries from the corridor that she starts to wonder what Kilgharrah could have possibly wanted with Nimueh.

\--

“Are you busy?” Arthur asks as he sits at the library table, taking his spot across from Merlin ( _ugh_ it’s so gross that they have a _library table_ now). It’s a rickety thing, probably a thousand years old, the lighting around them virtually nonexistent, and there appears to be an air draft coming from the garbage heap if the smell is any indication. The shelves surrounding them are full of books on Xylomancy, a class that had not been taught at Hogwarts for almost fifty years. In short, it is a rarely traversed area.

Perfect for doing forbidden research.

Merlin looks at Arthur with a quizzical expression, then down at the book he is holding with dragon hide gloves (the book is still _oozing_ ), then back up at Arthur, then the book, then Arthur, then --

“Okay, okay, fine, yes, you’re busy.” Arthur sits back in his chair with a loud squeak of the joints. He levels Merlin with a glare. “If you make another comment about my weight --“

Merlin holds up his gloved hands, biting back a smile, “wouldn’t dream of it.” (Although the last joke had been _very_ funny). He closes the book with a squelch, crinkling his nose, and deposits it in the hazardous magical materials bag he snuck out of the Potions closet. One down, 999 to go. “You’re late.”

If Merlin thought he was spending a lot of time with Arthur before, it was nothing compared to his schedule now (a schedule that Arthur had meticulously planned out for the next _year_ ). Arthur had factored in not only their class schedules but also all of their extracurricular duties, meal times, study sessions, “research” hours, and a shockingly generous six hours of sleep each night. It was completely over the top and ridiculous and so _Arthur_. On the bright side, Arthur’s ever present bad mood seemed to taper off slightly when it was just the two of them so Merlin was willing to count that as a small victory.

Arthur rubs a hand over his face. “I know but I told Gwaine I was coming here to work on the Potions thing and then _he_ said he also had to work on _his_ and invited himself along and I’ve spent the last _hour_ doing all the work for him.”

Merlin smirks. “Didn’t want to be caught reading illicit materials with me?”

Arthur scowls. “That’s not -- I don’t -- ugh, _no_.” One perk Merlin has found while spending entirely too much time with Arthur is that he is incredibly easy to fluster and it is always entertaining.

(The downside of this was that Arthur was also getting very good at annoying Merlin.

The previous evening they had been searching for Arthur’s rogue gargoyle for extra credit. After spending a full _hour_ in complete silence as they crept along the battlements, Merlin couldn’t take it anymore. “So if you could be an animagus, what would you be?”

Arthur looked at him over his red cloak (the October night was rather chilly). “Are we doing small talk now?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Merlin huffed in annoyance. “Well I apologize for not wanting to awkwardly roam the roof in silence!”

Arthur was starting to look far too amused. “And that’s the question you went with? Want to get to _know_ me better, _Em_ rys?”

Merlin jabbed his wand hard against the stone creature before him but it remained still. “Fine! Forget I said anything. We’ll just silently walk along this creepy dark roof and see if any of these nightmare statues attack us."

After several minutes of creeping along, tapping various stone monsters (none of which sprang to life) Arthur said, “dragon.”

Merlin ducked and frantically looked around the roof. “ _Where_?!”

“No, you _idiot_.” He could hear Arthur’s eye-roll. “I’d want to _be_ a dragon.”

“Oh,” Merlin said, standing up and taking his eyes off the sky, “is that even possible?”

Arthur snorted. “My apologies, _Em_ rys. I didn’t realize that your hypothetical question required only realistic answers.”

“It doesn’t,” Merlin snapped. They reached the end of the roof and he looked over at Arthur. “But a dragon? Pen _dragon_? Bit on the nose isn’t it?”

“And what would you be, Emrys?”

Merlin grinned. “Well using your logic, I’d be a merlin.” He ducked Arthur’s arm and the two raced each other back inside, shoving into one another’s shoulders, and throwing insults the entire way.

Gaius was less than amused when they crashed into him at the bottom of the stairs.)

Arthur puts his elbows on the table, which gives a loud creak of protest. “I just don’t want Gwaine to get suspicious. Lance already is.”

“Maybe that’s because _someone_ was reading an illegal book right at the breakfast table.”

“Hardly anyone was there! And your lying was more suspicious than anything.”

Merlin glares. “ _My_ lying. At least I tried to come up with something, you just sat there caught in the act!”

“Boys!” Merlin’s heart stops dead in its tracks at the voice behind him. Arthur’s eyes widen comically (or it would be comical if Merlin wasn’t feeling the same terror). He turns around to see Madam Pince glaring at them over her book trolley, bandage across her nose (Merlin feels a bit guilty about that), beady eyes laser-focused on them, scanning the area for anything amiss.

Merlin audibly swallows.

Madam Pince glares down her hawk nose at them. “If you raise your voices again I will be dismissing you from the premise. Is that understood?”

They both nod vigorously and she wheels the screeching cart away. They might need to find a new place for research.

The two sit in silence until they hear the distant shriek of another student being accosted.

Arthur leans forward, the table practically _screaming_. “So, can I have a favor?”

Merlin is skeptical. “Depends on the favor...”

Arthur widens his eyes, leaning closer. “Remember how I mentioned Gwaine distracted me?”

“Seeing as it happened five minutes ago, it’s still pretty fresh in my mind,” Merlin grumbles.

Arthur throws him a disarming half-smile. “Think you’d be willing to edit my essay for me?”

Arthur is so used to his charm getting him whatever he wants, he forgets that Merlin is immune. Merlin sets his elbows on the table and gives a suggestive smile. “I’ll look at yours if you look at mine.”

Arthur’s jerk of surprise and sputtering are almost worth the loud crash as the table gives out and Madam Pince chasing them from the room, ruler brandished like a sword.

\--

Gwaine slams open the door to their dormitory. “They are definitely up to something,” he greets throwing himself on his bed.

Lance glances at his other roommates. Leon doesn’t bother looking up from his Quidditch book and Elyan mouths, “your turn.” Lance sighs and rolls up his essay. Dealing with Gwaine requires undivided attention.

“Who is up to something?”

Gwaine sits up on his elbows. “Merlin and Arthur. You asked me to spy on them.”

Leon snaps his head up to stare in open mouthed horror at Lance and Elyan’s eyes light up with excitement.

“I did no such thing!”

Gwaine furrows his brow. “At breakfast the other day? You said you felt like you were missing something and asked me to figure it out.”

Elyan snorts. “Gwaine, you were half asleep, I think you imagined that second bit.”

“Oh.” Gwaine shrugs. “Either way, those two are being very secretive.”

Leon rolls his eyes. “And how would you know that?”

“Because I’ve been following Princess. He nearly jumped out of his skin when I sat down next to him in the common room. Tried to get rid of me by going to the library but I just tagged along. He was so desperate to leave, he even wrote most of my essay for me,” he adds triumphantly, grinning at Leon’s clear disproval. “Then he went to this corner of the library I didn’t even know _existed_ \--“

“That’s not surprising,” Elyan mumbles.

“-- where he met up with _Merlin_ who was definitely reading a book out of the Restricted Section.” He sits up and digs through his bag before he tosses something gold at Lance. “Take a look.”

Lance looks at Gwaine in exasperation. “You used omnioculars?”

“I was _spying_. Didn’t want to get caught.” Lance raises the binocular-like device to his eyes. He quickly rewinds the footage to see Merlin and Arthur sitting in a very dark corner of the library, hissing at each other just as they did at breakfast.

“So what did you find out?” Elyan asks.

Gwaine sighs. “Well, I got caught.” Lance watches through the omnioculars as the scene abruptly turns on its head, books rushing by, until the field of vision is at a sharp angle and a slightly unfocused Gwaine, mouth agape, is being hauled away by a very irate librarian hissing in his ear, clutching his shoulder sharply. Lance lowers the omnioculars. Gwaine is rubbing his shoulder. “She’s strong for a woman of her age.”

Elyan snorts again and Leon hides his smile behind his book. The information isn’t terribly helpful but it does confirm Lance’s suspicions. The only question now was whether or not he should try to talk to them. If that were the approach he was taking, he would need to try Merlin first. Arthur Pendragon was not known for wanting to _talk_ , ever.

Elyan leans forward on his bed. “You don’t think this would have anything to do with the bet, do you? Because if it does, I believe I take the pool.”

Gwaine scoffs. “If it did, I’m pretty sure Princess would be in a far better mood.”

\--

Arthur is in a Bad Mood.

Quidditch practice the previous evening had been full of nothing but rain, his team complaining about the rain, and Gwaine falling off his broom three times. Their first match this weekend is going to be a huge disaster.

And on top of that, the research is slow going. Despite his meticulously laid out schedule, it was proving difficult to follow. As Merlin so _kindly_ pointed out, they couldn’t read the books in public and anytime they entered the library Madam Pince lurked over their shoulders, ruler in hand, ready to attack them should they make any noise. Arthur studied the archaic pages under the cover of night, with his bed curtains drawn, after doing midnight rounds.

And now he is sitting in Potions, watching their brew boil for over an hour and he just had _wait_ all while listening to Merlin talk about the Potion Protocols that were released and the new love potions that have been banned and isn’t it interesting that the muggles have a Greek story about a man called Narcissus and wizards have a story about Ivane and both stories are about falling in love with yourself and the dangers of pride and vanity and doesn’t it just make you wonder about the interconnectedness of our histories and speaking of, there’s this muggle psychological condition that I think you’ll be interested in...

Arthur keeps wishing for something to take him away. He should have learned long ago to be careful what he wished for.

A second-year tip-toes into the classroom on squeaky shoes, eyes huge, hair braided like a crown. The entire class watches in unison as she skitters to Gaius and says something too low for Arthur to hear. Gaius’ face visibly pales. This can’t be good.

“Mr. and Miss. Pendragon,” shit, “you are needed in the Headmistress’ office.”

The whole class is staring at him now. Arthur swallows thickly. Merlin’s looking at him, biting his lip. For one ludicrous moment he almost asks Merlin to come with him. But instead he stands and walks with Morgana from the room feeling too much like they are heading to the gallows.

Morgana is ashen. “Do you think he’s dead,” she whispers it, as if saying the sentence aloud will make it true.

“No,” he tries to put enough conviction into his voice that she’ll believe him. He doesn’t know if he succeeds.

His sister is pale with bags under her eyes that she couldn’t quite hide with concealer. She’d been distant lately, more so than usual. A stab of guilt pierces Arthur’s chest. He’d been so caught up in trying to save their father that he hadn’t even checked on how Morgana was managing. But he doesn’t know what to say to make it right.

McGonagall meets them at the entrance to her office, a terse frown on her face. It is the only warning they receive before the reason behind her frown becomes apparent.

His hair is gelled so much it looks greasy and the pitch colored robes glint in the flickering light of the candles. The smile he’s wearing makes Arthur want to knock his teeth out.

“Arthur, Morgana,” Agravaine greets, “please take a seat.” Morgana stiffens beside him and both siblings wait for McGonagall to address them, it is _her_ office after all. Sexist Bastard.

McGonagall motions to the sitting area on the side of the room. Arthur never takes his eyes from Agravaine. Morgana sits close to him on the couch, shaking. “Would you like any tea?” McGonagall is deliberately only addressing the siblings and if he wasn’t so nervous, he would be amused. Morgana subtly shakes her head and Arthur offers a “no thank you, professor.”

Agravaine doesn’t seem to notice. “Tea would be _lovely_ , Minerva.” The student from before rushes over to a tea set. Agravaine still has that slimy smile in place but the edges have grown threadbare. He clears his throat. “Minerva,” Arthur’s jaw clenches, “do you think I could have a moment alone with my niece and nephew. This is a family matter.”

Morgana’s hand clutches Arthur’s so hard he almost yelps from the pain.

McGonagall blows out an angry puff of air. “I must apologize Agravaine but it is school policy to only leave students at their bequest and in the presence of their _guardian_.” She emphasizes the last word, making it clear she wouldn’t be leaving this office come hell or high water. 

“I think,” Arthur says drawing his uncle’s attention, “that we would prefer it if Headmaster McGonagall stayed.” Morgana nods and Agravaine’s face pinches, so slightly.

“But _of course_. Can you,” he gestures toward the student making the tea that _he_ requested and McGonagall goes over to whisper something in her ear. She quickly flees from the room and the Headmaster brings over a teapot. Agravaine pours himself a cup and takes his time drinking it.

Morgana is still holding Arthur’s hand, as if she’s trying to hold him back, but he never has been good at waiting.

“What did you want to speak to us about, Uncle. Is it father?” Better to get it out of the way as soon as possible.

“Mmm,” Agravaine hums around the tea. “Of course. Since I am in charge of overseeing his treatments and recovery, I do try to visit as often as I can.”

Morgana scoffs. “That must be rather difficult seeing as you’ve crowned yourself Minister,” she snaps. Arthur squeezes her hand to try to tell her to _shut up_ , it’s _his_ job to say stupid things.

Agravaine’s oily smile is back in full force. Arthur tries not to puke. “Oh yes, it turns out trying to keep your father’s legacy going is a fair bit of work.” He looks at McGonagall as he says this, her face as inexpressive as always but the steel of her eyes might very well slice through Agravaine where he sits.

Arthur’s stomach clenches. Agravaine is hinting that something is coming, something _big_ , and something of which McGonagall clearly doesn’t approve.

Agravaine sets down his teacup, the porcelain too delicate against his harsh features. “But I won’t bore you with grown-up talk.” At this Arthur does roll his eyes. “I wanted to bring you an update on your father.” He pauses, face grave. “His condition is not worsening but he is not improving either. His state is near identical to when you last saw him.”

“From the enchantment?” Arthur clarifies. He was there in the room when the Healers were discussing it. Pressed against the wall as the wizards tried various spells and potions on his father, all while Agravaine was coming in and out sending countless owls, plotting his takeover.

Agravaine grimaces. “Well, the Healers aren’t as sure anymore. If it is an enchantment there is every chance he will make a full recovery…”

“But?” Morgana asks.

Agravaine sighs. “But it is more likely that there isn’t an outside cause.”

Morgana squeezes Arthur’s hand twice. He’s lying. Arthur knows it. He was in the fucking emergency room as they raced around his father. And Agravaine’s trying too hard to be understanding. He’s doing a piss poor job of acting like he gives a damn about what is going to happen to their father, instead focusing all his attention on watching he and Morgana, making sure they believe his words. He’s playing all his cards wrong and Arthur sees his bluff.

Arthur lets out a long breath until his voice is even, he can play the game of politics better than Agravaine. “May we visit?” The question is sour on his tongue.

Agravaine twists his expression into one of sympathy, or the closest thing he can manage. “I don’t think that would be good for you or your father.”

“Can we at least receive updates?” Morgana asks, voice dry.

Agravaine nods. “Of course, I will be glad to send them once I hear anything. I’ll have my assistant, Cedric, write a weekly report.”

Morgana and Arthur level each other with a look. Why the hell would Agravaine care if they visit their father or not? Or receive a letter from St. Mungo’s from a Healer _actually_ treating their father? And why would Agravaine show up in person after a whole month of silence?

“Is that all, Uncle?” Arthur asks. Gods he’d give anything to be back in the Potions classroom listening to Merlin discuss the various merits of cauldron materials. A tiny part of him is hoping Merlin is somehow waiting for him outside the office, just like last time.

“Oh, just one more thing.” He pulls a stack of parchment out of his bag and hands it over. “According to your father’s will, if he is incapacitated for a time exceeding six months, I am to take over as your legal guardian.” The last word is spoken with a shark-like grin turned on McGonagall, a cruel joke of her earlier words.

Arthur jumps from his seat, ready to break every teacup in this bloody office but Morgana’s hand snatches his wrist and yanks him back down. “May I keep this?” She asks.

Agravaine nods. “Of course, I have plenty of copies.” A warning. The clock in the corner chimes. “And I _do_ apologize but I _must_ run off. Many meetings to attend, keeping the Ministry going is a full time job.” With a completely disgusting wink he sets off to the fireplace and Floos away without waiting for a goodbye.

“May I be excused?” Arthur asks, not meeting anyone’s gaze.

“Arthur!” Morgana chastises but McGonagall grants his leave. He’s out the door before Morgana can snatch his wrist again.

Morgana turns to McGonagall with wide eyes. “I think I’d like that tea now, professor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, would love to know your thoughts!
> 
> Next Chapter features: BAMF!Morgana, Brooding!Arthur, Tryinghisbest!Merlin, Gratuitous!SexualTension, and three teenagers plotting to save the world


	6. Chapter 6

Merlin hadn’t seen any sign of either Pendragon since their ominous summoning from Potions. But gossip spreads like fire in this school so after a talk with Mordred, who is friends with Daegel, who is close to Sefa, who’s younger sister had _done_ the ominous summoning, and a quick bribe of a few Chocolate Frog cards ( _“_ This one has your name on it!” “Erm…yes?”), Merlin learned the Pendragons had met with _Agravaine_.

After a rather heated discussion with his Housemates, Merlin is _once again_ elected to console the missing Slytherin Pendragon. The search is taking longer than he expected. Morgana isn’t in her room (which smells a bit like a campfire), she isn’t in the library (Madam Pince holds up a ruler in warning), she isn’t in the dining hall or kitchens (so she probably hasn’t eaten), she isn’t in the Hufflepuff Dorm (Gwen offers a _I spoke with earlier and she wanted to be alone_ , which is neither encouraging nor informative), she isn’t in the teacher’s lounge (Kilgharrah is having a rather intense conversation using the Floo network so Merlin ducks back out before he’s spotted) and she isn’t in the weird dungeon room that he’s pretty sure used to be used for torture but Morgana insisted it “relaxed her.”

Finally he makes his way to the Divination wing of the castle. Sir Cadogan is missing from his portrait (thankfully as he is not in the mood to listen to Sir Cadogan regale him with stories of the _Great Merlin_ he used to know) and Nimueh’s office is shut tight. Merlin suppresses a shudder. Nimueh always made him uncomfortable and would say things like, “your destiny awaits you, Emrys,” with a tight lipped smile. Anytime she said this in the hallway Sir Cadogan would nod his head so hard his helmet would clank shut. Morgana insisted he should be flattered but Merlin tends to avoid this wing of the castle as he has enough to worry about _without_ a destiny, thank you very much.

Merlin pushes open the classroom door across from the office. The room is adorned with jewel colored fabrics suspended from the ceiling and piled on the floor. A large telescope sits before the only window, polished to a shining gold. The ceiling has been enchanted to display the night sky and a bright burst of fire burns across the night. A girl sits cross-legged in the center of the room, books open in a circle around her, with a teacup dead center, like some sort of beverage related séance. Merlin gently calls her name.

“Hmm?” Morgana looks up, eyes huge, brows furrowed. Her hair is more untamed than Merlin had ever seen it, her eyeliner is smudged at the corners, and her eyes are red and bloodshot.

Merlin tosses a bag of food at her (was he the Pendragons’ courier now?). She blinks owlishly as she studies it.

“Have I missed lunch?”

“Morgana, you’ve missed dinner. It’s nearing curfew.” He doesn’t add that he’s been searching for her for the better part of the past few hours, it doesn’t seem like the time.

“Gods.” She looks at her watch; her eyes take on a far away look like she’s calculating the odds of something. She licks her lips. “Would you do me a favor?”

Merlin nods. “Of course, whatever you need.”

The wicked smile in response to that statement chills him to the core. “I’m _so_ glad you phrased it that way.”

\--

The lights behind Arthur’s eyelids start to fade so he digs his palms in harder, keeping his eyes shut tight. He can’t stand the thought of _looking_ at things anymore.

He’s been sitting on his bed for _hours_ sorting through all the news articles he’s been avoiding for the past month. And he’d only come up to do _this_ as his initial plan of flying his broom until his life made sense was foiled by the Ravenclaw Quidditch team kicking him off the pitch.

(Mithian had caught his arm as he walked passed, the grips of her Seeker gloves sticking to his robes, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I could convince Isolde to let you stay and practice with us,” she shrugged. He really doubted that, Isolde was a more intense Captain than _he_ was. “Plus I’m sure you would love the opportunity to spy on the enemy,” she added with a teasing grin. They had been childhood friends, forced together by fathers who moved in the same circles. Arthur’s throat felt very tight. He shook his head and she shrugged. “Well if you need anything…”

“You’re a good friend, Mithian.” She beamed and headed back to her team (Isolde was glaring daggers at him for holding up the practice). “Elena’s a lucky girl!” He yelled after her.

She turned around, blushing to the roots of her hair. “Oh my god, _shut up_!”)

The only thing that really became clear while he was flying was that he didn’t have nearly enough information. So now he is trying to fix that.

Things he knows:

  1. Agravaine showed up at the onset of summer claiming he wanted to make amends and get closer to his niece and nephew. (When Arthur asked his father _why_ he let Agravaine stay, the man had just shrugged and said it was important to keep up appearances.)
  2. Agravaine then spent the entire summer following their father around the Ministry and riding his coat tails. (Much to Uther’s annoyance.)
  3. At the end of summer, Uther fell suddenly ill and was otherwise incapacitated.
  4. With his father out of the way, Agravaine appointed himself “Interim Minister” and presented an archaic law to prove the legitimacy of the position.
  5. The Wizard’s Council legislation Agravaine cited gives him the right to power as the closest living family member (of age) to the current Minister. (This point in particular begs several questions to be asked. Agravaine isn’t related to Uther by blood, but through Uther’s marriage to Agravaine’s late sister, so is it really that legitimate of a right to the position? More so, when he and Morgana come of age can they challenge him? Much to think on.)
  6. The law states he remains in power as long as the Minister cannot perform their duties (i.e. suffer from an unknown ailment in a hospital bed).
  7. The law ceases to be effective if the Minister dies (unless Agravaine has another hidden doctrine up his sleeves).
  8. If all of that is true, and _if_ Agravaine did have something to do with Arthur’s father’s demise, then he would need Uther _alive_ to remain in power, so his father is probably not in immediate danger of dying.



It’s not as comforting a realization as he would like it to be. But if he can find out what is harming his father, then he can reverse the effects and they can get rid of Agravaine as Minister.

(This would still leave _his father_ as Minister but that’s a problem for a future day. He may not agree with the man’s policies but he doesn’t want him _dead_.)

What makes no sense is the bit about legal guardianship. Uther _loathed_ Agravaine.

There was a party when he was younger to celebrate Uther’s run for Minister where Arthur saw first-hand how much his father did not care for his uncle.

Arthur had been miserable, both he and Morgana were forced into starchy clothing and Morgana had set her dress on fire four times before their Nanny had given up and put them both in wizard’s robes. He doesn’t remember much of the party, just the notion of a home usually empty suddenly full of life and sound, but he _does_ remember Agravaine.

He remembers his father’s tight smile as he shook the other man’s hand and how he quickly excused himself from the conversation. Agravaine turned his gaze to Arthur with a sour expression. It struck Arthur as odd (everyone _always_ smiled at him) and he asked his father about it the next morning.

“Father, why doesn’t uncle Agravaine like me?”

Without looking up from his morning paper Uther had simply said, “Because you look too much like your mother.”

Arthur’s blood turned to ice and Morgana looked at him with eyes wide as saucers. He couldn’t remember the last time his father spoke of his mother.

His father put down the paper. “Don’t bother yourself with Agravaine. He isn’t worth anyone’s thoughts. He goes where he thinks the power is flowing.”

Arthur nodded and asked no further questions.

(Though sometimes, when his father looked at him with nothing but disappointment on his face, he couldn’t help but think that maybe his father and uncle had at least one thing in common.)

Uther would _never_ have named Agravaine as their guardian in the will. Even if Uther and Agravaine had suddenly come to some sort of weird agreement over the summer, there’s no way he would have a man who hated him most of his life look after his children. Uther was a bad father, but he wasn’t _that_ bad (or so Arthur hoped). But all of this is irrelevant because he and Morgana come of age the month after the guardianship would go into effect. So why add that into a will that Agravaine had most likely tampered with? And why tell him about it?

He removes his hands from his eyes and the room flickers back into focus. One problem at a time. Arthur grabs one of the Restricted books from his bag and starts reading.

\--

Morgana must be a member of the fae, how else could she ensnare Merlin into doing absolutely mad things for her?

It is with this thought ringing though his head that he follows a first-year Gryffindor into their common room (another bribe of Chocolate Frog cards, he was going to be out before the end of the day at the rate he was going, _bloody Pendragons_ ).

It’s not the first time he’s been here but it still feels unsettling. The colors are too bright, the red and gold such a stark contrast to the comforting cool tones of his own common room. Most of the other houses don’t mind visitors but there is still some sort of deep-rooted mistrust Gryffindors feel toward Slytherins. Or at least, that’s certainly how it seems when everyone in the common room stops talking to stare at him as he falls from the portrait hole (though in fairness, they might be staring because his fall was rather loud).

“Merlin?”

Relief courses through him. “Lance, _thank gods_.” He stumbles over to where the boy is sitting with Leon playing a game of Wizards Chess. Leon looks pissed to high heaven and Merlin is hoping it’s about the game and not him.

“Is everything all right?” Lance asks.

“I need Arthur.” Lance’s eyebrows go up and even Leon tears his gaze from the board. “No, I mean, Morgana? She’s sent me to fetch him? She wouldn’t tell me what for except that she couldn’t stop her calculations because she’s almost figured out the placement of Jupiter…” he is acutely aware that the room is still staring at him. “Er…so is he here?” Gods, why is this so difficult?

Gwaine appears at Merlin’s side, throws an arm around him, startling Merlin out of his skin. “He’s up in the dorm, fourth floor, can’t miss it.” He’s wearing a grin not dissimilar to the one that Morgana wore when she sent him on this journey.

“And you’re going to go get him?” Merlin asks, wearing an overly hopeful expression.

“I think you are more than capable of fetching him yourself.” He winks.

Merlin scowls. “I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be noble.”

Gwaine throws his head back and laughs. “I like you Merlin. I see why Princess loves to ruffle your feathers.” He runs his hand through Merlin’s hair to emphasize this point and Merlin bats him away.

Merlin climbs the stairs to the boy’s dorm, with great reluctance, dragging his feet on each step. The wood grain of a door has never been more fascinating but with a huge breath Merlin pushes it forward without knocking.

“I swear to gods, Gwaine, if you say even one word I am going to hex you into next Thursday.”

The familiar, arrogant voice comes from a bed in the center of the far wall.

Merlin lets the door swing shut and leans against it. “Just next Thursday? Why is it that I get threats that extend into next year?”

Arthur sits up so fast, the owl perched on the table next to him flies off with a squawk of annoyance, disappearing into the rafters. Arthur looks horribly confused at Merlin’s presence in his room. His hair is a mess and the bags under his eyes are pronounced even from where Merlin stands. Several books clatter to the floor as he sits up.

And he isn’t wearing a shirt.

Which is _not_ the most pressing matter at hand, with Agravaine visiting and Arthur’s clear brooding and whatever was going on with Morgana, but -- on a completely _objective_ level -- Arthur _is_ a Quidditch Captain and he runs a lot when he’s stressed -- and he’s _always_ stressed -- and Merlin is only human -- it’s simply _a fact_ that Arthur is attractive -- so Merlin’s brain isn’t quite functioning the way its supposed to.

(Maybe he is not as immune to Arthur Pendragon as he thought.)

Merlin swallows.

He does his best not to ogle his enemy in their weakened state. Especially because it’s _Arthur_ who he doesn’t even _like_ at _all_. Even if he is fit and handsome and blonde and his skin is kind of glowing right now? Maybe Merlin has never appreciated the Gryffindor color scheme because he’s never seen it displayed against the expanse of Arthur’s bare skin.

 _(WHAT was happening to him_?!)

Arthur’s talking. But Merlin’s treacherous brain hasn’t remembered how to process sound.

Arthur jumps out of bed and strides across the room toward him, shirtless, shoulders thrown back, hair nearly gold in the light of the torches, jaw clenched, eyes hard. It suddenly hits Merlin how well he wears the expression. A man who can command the world to bend to his will. Like a warrior.

Or a prince.

Arthur stops in front of him, right in his personal space (why was Arthur _always_ so close to him?), until they are nearly pressed together, chest to chest, the only thing really keeping Merlin standing is the door at his back. Arthur’s gesturing wildly, still talking, probably yelling at him, lips chapped, bottom lip bitten red where he worries it when he’s working out a difficult problem or unhappy with a situation (why does he know so much about _Arthur’s mouth_?) and Merlin can’t stop _staring_ and thinking how easy it would be to just --

Merlin takes in a shuddering breath to clear his head.

Mistake.

His senses are suddenly full of _Arthur_ , clouding all thoughts and reason (what little still remained), the smell of soap wafting off him, spicy and citrus and warm making something hot unfurl in deep in Merlin’s gut, his magic thrumming electric in his veins, and Arthur is so _close_ Merlin can feel the heat coming off his skin and Merlin’s throat is suddenly dry and his breath hitches and --

“ _Em_ rys, are you even _listening_ to me?”

Definitely not.

Merlin shakes his head, holds up a hand to silence him. “Morgana sent me to fetch you. I’ll meet you outside your dorm in five.”

He ignores Arthur’s indignant protest at being bossed around and takes the stairs four at a time. He stumbles into the common room, tripping over his own feet as he rights himself. His pulse is still roaring in his ears.

Gwaine’s smile is just on this side of mischievous. “See anything good up there, Merlin?”

Merlin flashes a rude gesture. Gwaine’s laughter follows of him as he crawls out of the hovel that is the Gryffindor dormitory.

He presses his back against the wall next to the portrait into the Gryffindor common room and lets the cool of the stone sink into the bones.

This is fine.

Everything is fine.

So _maybe_ he’s attracted to Arthur. If this giggling girls that follow Pendragon’s every move are anything to go by, then it is not an uncommon feeling. And Arthur’s always been _kind of_ handsome and Merlin got used to that in no time (except for when Arthur caught him off guard, which was _rare_ ).

And Merlin should definitely get a boyfriend at his earliest convenience, just to be safe. Not that he thinks he has anything he needs to worry about but --

“Emrys?” Merlin lets out a single loud ‘yip.’ He hadn’t even heard (a now fully clothed) Arthur approach. “Why are you so _jumpy_?”

The condescension in Arthur’s voice is so grating that Merlin nearly laughs in delight. _Of course_ Arthur’s personality will be a huge turn off, he’s still Arthur Pendragon: Class A Prat. (Admittedly he is an attractive prat, but a prat nonetheless.)

He spares one look at Arthur’s sneer and jerks his head in the direction of the stairs. “Let’s go.” He practically runs all the way to the Divination Wing, mentally going through charms that could erase the last ten minutes from his mind forever, and his eyes never once stray to the skin of Arthur’s throat bared by his open collar.

\--

Arthur strides into the classroom as if he owns the place (a Pendragon trademark).

“What do you want Mor _gana_?” Arthur asks as soon as Merlin bolts across the room and slides into a desk along the far wall. Merlin shrinks down in his seat and rounds his shoulders studying the floor. Her brother probably did something to offend him. “Why did you -- ” his eyes catch on the teacup and he stops mid-tirade, “is that _Agravaine’s_?”

“Yes,” Morgana smiles. “I’m reading his tea leaves.” The idea hit her the moment the bastard set his cup on the coffee table. Smuggling it out when McGonagall’s back was turned was easier than it should have been. She suspects the woman might know she took it. “Had you not run off in a huff we could have been strategizing together for the past few hours instead of you sulking while _I_ do all the work.” And she had been doing a lot of work. Time had flown by and if Merlin hadn’t found her, she’d probably still be working until class started the next day.

Arthur’s jaw drops in offense. “I do _not_ sulk!” She looks to Merlin for support but he is resolutely avoiding eye contact. “And strategize what?”

“Well I don’t know, how to stop our uncle’s hostile takeover?” Morgana snaps. Merlin looks up at this with wide eyes that dart toward the door. If he bolts, she’s going to have to stop him. He’s crucial to the plan she’s been devising.

Arthur blinks at her several times (in shock or just stupidity she’s not sure). “ _Should we really be discussing this here_ ,” he hisses, waving his arms for emphasis.

Morgana rolls her eyes. “Nimueh’s not in her office, don’t be such a drama queen.” Arthur continues to glare. Morgana snatches her wand and throws a silencing charm at the door. “Happy?” Merlin is still looking twitchy and she wonders if she should add a sticking charm for good measure.

“Far from it,” Arthur grumbles as sits heavily on a desk near the door. He looks over at Merlin with a furrowed brow. Perhaps he doesn’t know what he did to offend Merlin this time. It’s a problem Morgana does not have time to deal with. He turns back to look at her and waves a hand before him. “Care to share your discoveries with the class?”

Morgana rubs her hands together, not unlike a cartoon villain. “Well, according to his tea Agravaine’s lying through his teeth but I think even _you_ figured that one out yourself while you were brooding.” The muscle in Arthur’s jaw jumps. Morgana continues. “But the main symbol I found in the leaves was a sword bisecting a slab.” She grabs the notebook she scribbled the drawing in and throws it at him, waiting for him to open to the marked page (she learned long ago if you want Arthur on your side, you come armed with information). She opens _Unfogging the Future_. “Now, swords are usually associated with authority but slabs are often indicative of betrayal- -”

Arthur eyes light up and he leans forward. “So do you think he --”

“ _Let me finish_!” Gods Arthur’s impatience is going to be the death of her. She throws her hair over her shoulder. “I haven’t been doing _maths_ for the past few hours for you to interrupt me.” Merlin rather unsuccessfully hides a snort. Arthur glares at him. And _there’s_ the dynamic Morgana’s accustomed to seeing. She continues, “Based on his horoscope --“

“I thought horoscopes weren’t real?”

Morgana’s eyes bore into him. “Arthur. If you interrupt me once more I swear to gods I will curse you impotent.” Arthur opens his mouth as if to protest but he stays quiet. _Point: Morgana_. She clears her throat. “There are arguing opinions on the legitimacy of Astrology as a successful means of predicting the future. As with all arts of Divination, a lot of it is interpretive. So the better the practitioner, the more accurate the results. And _you_ are looking at the best.” Arthur rolls his eyes. “From my calculations nothing in the stars indicates an external struggle, everything the stars read is _internal_.” Morgana looks between the two of them but neither one gives her the excited reaction she’s looking for. Clearly the many OWLS they received were not in Divination.

Since Arthur has been threatened with silence, Merlin speaks up. “And that’s…good?”

“Yes!” Morgana shrieks. “It means that he is a backstabbing liar.” That isn’t precisely what it means as reading the future is an art in interpretation, but Morgana is nothing if not good at interpretation. She crosses her arms. “He obviously betrayed father and now he’s playing Minister. Although how anyone is letting him keep the position is nothing short of a mystery. The man has never been a leader.”

Arthur raises his hand. Morgana thinks about letting him stew in silence, as it will likely help his character but magnanimously calls on him. “This is brilliant Morgana, truly. But do you have anything more…specific?”

She opens her mouth as if to speak but waits a few moments, running through all of the information she’s divined. “No,” she admits. “But I’m hopeful that between the three of us, we’ll find something.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline as he sneers at Merlin. “The three of us?” Honestly, this homoerotic feud her brother insisted on keeping up was getting old. At first it was entertaining but six years running is a bit on the ridiculous side. She’s not in the mood for his willful ignorance.

Plus he’s been _excluding_ her.

Morgana gestures between Merlin and Arthur. “Well you’ve already started looking into the enchantment that befell our father.” Arthur’s jaw drops and Merlin falls rather ashen. “ _Thanks for inviting me_ , by the way. It’s not as though I don’t love breaking school rules and reading forbidden texts or anything.”

Arthur turns his anger on Merlin. “You told her?”

Merlin glares at Arthur. “ _No_ , but she’s a Seer who is a fair bit more intelligent than you so I don’t imagine it was too hard to figure out,” he snaps.

Morgana smiles. “Thank you, Merlin.” The real reason she found out was simply that she heard the two of them whispering about it when they walked into Potions that morning. Idiots, the both of them. It’s unfortunate that these are her options for allies.

Merlin clears his throat. “So you want Arthur and I to figure out the enchantment?”

“No. I want _you_ to look into the illness. You’ve already talked to Gaius, right?” Merlin and Arthur share a look. Morgana raises her eyebrows. “The very first thing you did was talk to the resident potions and enchantment expert in this building, right?”

Merlin presses his lips together. “We were getting to that part.”

Morgana blinks several times and looks between the two _fools_ before her. She shakes her head. “Well, _now_ your first course of action is going to be to talk to Gaius and see what he knows. Just don’t be too suspicious.”

“And what do you want me to do?” Arthur asks, arms crossed.

Morgana smiles. “Read this.” She punctuates the statement by hurling a huge stack of papers that hit Arthur’s chest with a thud.

Arthur looks at the stack of parchment with distaste. “You want me to read father’s will?” He looks up at Merlin. “Can’t I help Emrys?”

Morgana purses her lips and barely suppresses the eye roll that begs to follow his statement. If Arthur were anymore transparent, he might actually clue into his own feelings. “ _No_. You didn’t sit through years of extracurricular Wizarding Law classes every summer for them to go to waste.” Merlin’s eyes visibly sparkle at this statement and Morgana knows he will use it against her brother in the future.

Arthur sighs. “It’s probably a fake.”

“ _Yes_ ,” gods Arthur is really an idiot, “that’s what I’m counting on you proving. You should send an owl to Geoffrey as well, he’s been father’s lawyer for ages. Then you need to re-read all the Wizard’s Council Documents in the library so we can try and figure out what Agravaine is up to.”

“Don’t you think there’s people already doing that?”

Morgana clenches her teeth. “Like the Healers treating our father? Like the Ministry officials who’ve just let Agravaine take over? If we aren’t doing something we are part of the problem and I don’t intend to sit back and watch whatever horror show Agravaine has planned to play out.”

This must be what her dreams have been trying to tell her. Something happened in the past, something _bad_ , and that version of herself didn’t stop it (or maybe even _caused_ it, given the nature of the dreams she’s been having). So now she gets a second chance in the future. She doesn’t tell Arthur this, not yet. He’s going to worry and freak out and probably burn the book on Old Magic so she doesn’t use it again. She needs to get control of her Visions _first_ , then she’ll tell him everything.

“Well, I’m in,” Merlin says, flashing Morgana a bright smile. “I don’t want Agravaine to remain Minister anymore than you do.” They both turn to look at Arthur.

Arthur sighs and rubs his hands over his face. She knows he’s been thinking all the same things she has. They don’t trust their uncle, neither of them want to watch their father die, and neither of them are going to really be at peace until they have some answers for themselves.

Arthur gives her a measuring look and she knows she’s got him. “What are you going to be doing?”

Morgana waves her arms around her at the books, the teacup, the painstakingly drawn star charts she’s been working on for _hours_. He holds his hands up in defense. “Right, of course. And where do you want to do this?” He looks around the room. “Are we going to commandeer a different classroom each week? Perhaps next time we should take over your common room? Or maybe the kitchens so at least we can have sustenance.”

“I know a place,” Merlin says. He looks at Arthur. “The classroom by the painting.”

Morgana grins a delighted smile. “You two have a painting?” Oh this was _news_.

“ _No_ ,” Merlin says quickly but Arthur is definitely blushing. “It’s an old Potions classroom. Gaius keeps some extra vials and supplies there but he always sends me to get them because he doesn’t want to climb the stairs. No one else uses it.”

Perfect. “Then it seems like we have our evil lair.”

Arthur groans, “do we have to call it evil?”

Morgana lets out a peal of cackling laughter.

\--

The green flames lick high into the stone chimney, dousing the office in a sickly glow. Agravaine’s broad frame steps through the fire and he glares at the scrawny figure that has made itself comfortable in one of the armchairs, face propped in hand, mouth slightly agar, sound asleep.

“If you have time for sleeping I trust that you must bring good news.”

Cedric jerks to life, toppling over the chair, planting his feet in a wide stance, wand already in his dominant hand, his left hand grasping for an enchanted dagger at his hip that Agravaine no longer allows him to carry.

(He’s not stupid enough to think that the boy doesn’t keep the dagger on him _somewhere_. But Agravaine is pleased to note that wherever it is, it is no longer a muscle memory to have it drawn.)

Agravaine clicks his tongue at Cedric and moves around to sit at his desk. Cedric adjusts his left boot and then relaxes back into the chair. “How were your meetings, sir?”

“As well as could be expected. My niece and nephew were not terribly thrilled to see me.” He does not add that this was precisely what he wanted. Cedric need not know how all the threads of the plan will connect. He barely knows the role he is to play.

“And the other meeting?”

Agravaine glares, never trust a thief by trade. “Even though your job title might be that of my assistant, I don’t actually need you to keep track of my daily schedule.”

Cedric leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes laser focused on Agravaine. “Your planner was open on your desk, had I not moved it, anyone could have seen it.” He twitches. “I think certain people in this building would ask far more difficult questions than I am.”

Agravaine’s lip curls. “Don’t believe for one moment that you are irreplaceable. You are paid to get me information not ask questions. And you’ve yet to provide the information I need.”

Cedric scratches his neck. “I might have found something. Had to arrange for access to the Office of Magical Artifacts, used a bit of veritaserum and memory charms, hired some men to start searching for it at Hogwarts and the manor, Gringotts’ll have to wait until you can access it yourself. The whole thing cost a fair bit.” He rubs his thumb and first finger together for emphasis.

From a pocket in his robes Agravaine pulls out a small pouch and it soars through the air between them. Cedric’s hand strikes viper fast, the parcel jingling as it’s caught. This was the problem with buying loyalty, the price constantly goes up.

Cedric pockets the bag with a sly grin and pulls a rolled parchment from thin-air. Agravaine suppresses an eye roll, thieves and their rudimentary slights of hand.

“It’s all there: history, last known location, assumed magical powers. ‘Course none of the information is too specific as no one’s seen the ruddy thing in 1000 years.”

Agravaine’s eyes hungrily devour the schematics before him. With great reluctance, he rolls it up and deposits it in the sealed drawer of his desk, locked to all but he. He can’t be late for his next meeting. He has a _lovely_ bit of policy to propose. All in a day’s work as Minister.

He looks up and is surprised to see Cedric still seated before him. He can’t possibly try to ask for more money. “You may go.”

Cedric licks his lips. “The boy?” Agravaine raises one eyebrow. Was he not clear that he wasn’t interested in answering questions? Perhaps money was no longer the only incentive needed to ensure the other man’s loyalty. “It’s just that, you was there today with him. Why not grab him now?”

Agravaine stands and grabs his briefcase motioning for Cedric to follow. “That _boy_ ,” he spits the word, “is of no use to me until I have the _sword_.” Before they reach the door Agravaine grabs him by the neck, nails digging into flesh. Cedric yelps. Agravaine leans in close to his ear. “So why don’t you do your job and not worry about the greater workings of things you don’t understand.” Agravaine presses his wand into the other man’s back. “And if you question my authority again, I will wipe you from this earth before you can so much as think of grabbing the dagger in your boot. Is that understood?”

Cedric swallows. “Y -- yes, sir.”

Agravaine smiles and pushes him through the open door into the bustling corridor, Cedric stumbling to get his feet beneath him. “Excellent,” Agravaine says with a cheery grin. “Now, our public awaits us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates from now on will be on Wednesdays
> 
> Next Chapter Features: Agravaine's first move as Minister, pining in the rain, and the formation of a highly illegal school club
> 
> Kudos and comments appreciated :)


	7. Chapter 7

Morgana bangs her fist on the desk before her, backlit by the moon outside, and throws her shoulders back. “I hereby call to order the first meeting of the Evil Knights of Camelot.”

The room is huge and circular, right at the top of a tower, full of mismatched desks and broken chairs. One side is entirely covered by windows, the glass a delicate blend of cracks and chips, presenting the never ending Forbidden Forest as an ominous mosaic. Dusty shelves adorn the opposite wall lined by glass vials opaque with time. The three of them have spent the past few hours cleaning up stray cobwebs and choking on clouds of dust.

Arthur groans. “We are _not_ calling ourselves that!”

Morgana tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I think it’s rather fitting seeing as it’s the name of _your painting_.”

Arthur’s eye twitches and she suppresses a smirk.

“And,” Arthur continues through clenched teeth, “we aren’t having a meeting at three in the bloody morning!”

“ _Arthur_!” she snaps. “Clubs have rules and rituals! We need to establish rituals!”

“We aren’t a _club_!”

“Guys,” Merlin whines, drawing their attention. “If you’re going to fight can I leave? I’d like to get at least an hour’s sleep before class tomorrow. In Herbology we’re working with Venomous Tentacula and I don’t think Longbottom was joking when he said they prey on those who haven’t slept.”

Morgana waves him off. “I’m certain he just meant they attack anyone who appears weak.” She gives Merlin a reassuring smile. “It probably won’t eat you since you have no muscle for it to feast on.”

“Thanks,” Merlin says in a dead voice.

Arthur crosses his arms. “Loathe as I am to admit it, Emrys has a point. So unless you have something specific you want to discuss…?”

Morgana bites her lip and turns to the rolling blackboard next to her. Across the top Merlin wrote, _Knights of Camelot_ , when Arthur wasn’t looking, sharing a small grin with Morgana. Morgana had then written _EVIL_ in front of it with red chalk and Merlin’s snorting attracted her brother’s attention who (as predicted) fumed spectacularly. It was too easy to rile him up.

She had also listed all of their names and their respective duties:

Merlin: Prince of Enchantments (Merlin had rolled his eyes at this, it was the Great Merlin’s moniker and he _hated_ being compared to his namesake.)

Arthur: Prat of Public Policy (“Why don’t I get an actual title?” “I thought you didn’t want to be a part of this?” “Well if I’m going to be part of this, I at least want a real title! If you’re calling us knights shouldn’t our title just _be_ knights?” “Arthur! You take the fun out of everything!”)

Morgana: Queen of Divination

She turns back to the boys. “There’s something I should tell you about my position…”

Arthur gives her an unimpressed look. “Is the pressure of being Queen already heavy on your shoulders, your Highness?”

Morgana wrings her hands together. Arthur’s demeanor immediately changes to that of concern. Morgana takes a deep breath. “I’ll only tell you if you promise not to get angry.”

Arthur and Merlin share a _look_ , both of them much more alert, and give her a nod.

“Recently I have been getting Visions from the past and I think they might be predicting the future.” She says it fast and braces for when Arthur finally processes what she’s said. It’s a risk, telling Arthur, but if they are going to be a team she needs to tell him some of what’s going on. Especially because he _hates_ when people keep things from him and the later he finds out the more irate he’s going to be.

“Is -- what? -- since when?” Arthur stammers.

Morgana rolls her shoulders back and holds her head high. “This past summer.”

“You’ve been having _Visions_ \--“

“You promised you wouldn’t get angry --“

“-- since the _summer_? And you didn’t tell me?” Merlin is studying his nails and Arthur looks between her and Merlin and his face grows even more furious. “You told Emrys before you told me?!”

Morgana tries to look imploring. “Arthur, I didn’t want you to worry unnecessarily.”

Arthur lets out a humorless laugh. “Am I allowed to worry now?”

“Noooooo,” she groans, rolling her eyes. If this is how he’s reacting to her first bit of news, he was going to _hate_ her next idea. “I talked to Nimueh and she said it’s fine its just rare so there’s not a lot of literature to help me navigate it. It’s only mentioned in books of Old Magic.”

Arthur lets out a long breath. “I thought Old Magic was gone. Didn’t it disappear when the original Merlin died?” He makes a gesture toward _their_ Merlin’s job on the board.

Morgana bites her lip. This is the tricky part. Sharing the information about the Visions without saying that she can actually tap into the magic. “It did, sort of. I’ve been doing as much research as I could but there isn’t loads of information available. But I think there’s still some in the world and if you search hard enough, you can find it. At least enough to let me _See_ things.”

Arthur sighs. “So these Visions…you think they can show what Agravaine is planning?”

Morgana nods. “Yes, I haven’t really Seen anything concrete, but they’ve been getting clearer.” She grabs a piece of parchment from inside her robe where she wrote the recipe down earlier. “And I have a potion that I think is going to help.” She hands it to Merlin who looks at it like it might grow fangs.

“Where did you find this?” He asks, unrolling it.

“In a book.”

Arthur crosses his arms. “How do you know it’s safe?”

She doesn’t but nothing in the book so far had been bad, not _really_. Just a little difficult for her to control. But if they were going to stop Agravaine, they were going to need an advantage.

Morgana rolls her eyes. “Arthur, it’s a _potion_ not a recipe for crystal meth.”

“I can name one hundred potions that are decidedly more dangerous than crystal meth!”

“Merlin?” she asks in her sweetest voice.

Merlin looks rather ill. “I don’t know….it might not be safe.” He bites his lip. “I suppose I could have Gaius take a look at the recipe and see if anything raises any red flags.”

Morgana beams. “Great! Then you can go ahead and brew it.”

“Why me?” Merlin asks.

“Because you’re the best in our year at potions.” She ignores Arthur’s indignant protests.

Merlin holds the scroll before him. “ _Only_ if Gaius thinks its safe.” His eyes scan the recipe. “The Nightshade should probably be added on a full moon so it won’t be done for two weeks.” Morgana agrees quickly.

Arthur groans. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

Morgana gestures between her and Merlin. “This is a democracy. Merlin and I outvote you two to one. Just like with our club name.” Morgana can hear Arthur grinding his teeth from across the room and she bites back a smile.

In two weeks they could very well know _exactly_ what Agravaine is planning.

\--

Merlin nearly misses breakfast the following morning. He only wakes up when Will accidently steps on Aithusa’s tail and if the yowl of pure unbridled rage hadn’t woken Merlin, then Will’s screams and pleas for mercy had certainly done the trick.

Merlin ignores Will’s questions of whether or not Aithusa has had all her vaccinations (of course she has, what kind of pet owner was he?) the entire way to the dining hall.

“I’m just saying,” Will is complaining, “if this gets infected you better…”

Merlin doesn’t learn what he better do as Will trails off to the near deafening silence of the Great Hall. The room is packed with students, everyone’s eyes glued to a newspaper. Will and Merlin share a look and rush over to Mordred. He’s seated far away from most of the room with only Morgana and Freya nearby. He has his arms wrapped around Freya who is shaking like a leaf.

Merlin sits carefully at her other side. “Freya?”

She looks up at him with bloodshot eyes. “I’m going to get kicked out of school, Merlin.” Merlin feels like he’s definitely missed something. Freya, while certainly not the most studious, gets excellent marks in Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures.

Morgana slams her fists on the table. “Like _hell_ we will let that happen. If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way I will burn them where they stand.” This just makes Freya shed more tears. Merlin’s eyes flicker between them.

Will asks in a low voice, “can anyone clue us in on what’s going on?”

Morgana throws the _Daily Prophet_ on the table before them. Merlin’s stomach drops.

**_Interim Minister Agravaine de Bois passes New Wizard Registration Guidelines._ **

_By: Morgause Gorlois_

_Protests have erupted across the Wizard World as news of a new Ministry law has hit the nation._

_Late last night, after calling for an emergency Wizengamot session, Interim Minister de Bois proposed a new piece of legislature amending the Wizard Registration Laws, the bill itself passing by a mere three votes. Under the new guidelines, all Magical Beings will be required to resister and declare Magical Status and Species with the Ministry of Magic._

_The New Registration Guidelines are based on a model not used since the days of the Wizard’s Council. Under the new guidelines, registration is mandatory for all beings under the Ministry’s jurisdiction. Certain classes of beings will be required to register in person at Ministry headquarters where there may be additional requirements such as residence and employment relocation, the mark of a tracking spell, and regular Ministry check-ins. A full list of Magical Beings affected and the requirements for each will be announced later today._

_An inside source tells us that many members of the Wizengamot were not present for the session. Hermione Granger, Annis Caerleon, Alator Cather, and Former Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt were some of the notable members of the Wizengamot who were absent at the time of the vote. There is some speculation that the missing members were actually together during the council but nothing is yet to be confirmed._

_When asked about the necessity of such a measure, de Bois stated, “it is just a safety precaution for all members of the community. My dear brother-in-law has had this in the works for years and I felt it was the least I could do to get things in motion for his return.”_

_No word yet has been reported on Minister of Magic Uther Pendragon’s health since he was admitted to St. Mungo’s…_

The tips of the paper catch fire where Merlin holds it.

Will squawks. “A little warning next time’d be nice.”

Merlin takes a swift breath to reign in his wandless magic. He grabs one of Freya’s hands. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Freya sniffles. “Thank you, Merlin. But I’m not sure what you can do. It’s the _law_.” Her tears are flowing freely now. “It’s going to be like my parents talked about, during the _war_ ,” she whispers the last word, squeezing Merlin’s hand tight.

“The law is _wrong_. And you aren’t going anywhere.” There’s one person who could assure that. He pushes off from the table.

Morgana calls after him. “Merlin, where are you going?”

But Merlin doesn’t turn around. He sprints through the castle, taking the stairs two at a time, and bursts into office.

“Headmistress, if you force Freya to leave Hogwarts then all of Slytherin will go with her!”

It is only after he’s said this that he registers the other people in the room. Professors Longbottom and Potter lean against the bookshelves on his right, Kilgharrah is lurking near the sitting area with Sinistra, and (uh oh) Gaius is next to them. He gives Merlin a look of complete exasperation. McGonagall stands in front of her desk giving him a reproachful look. He holds his chin high.

The Headmistress merely raises her eyebrows. “I certainly admire your nobility Mr. Emrys, but I’ve already had to listen to Mr. Pendragon extrapolate about the Ministry’s jurisdiction and its relationship to Hogwarts for the greater part of my morning so I would appreciate it if you spared me another lecture.”

He turns to the side to see Arthur leaning against the wall next to the doorway, looking rather small and chastised.

Merlin opens and closes his mouth, the wind effectively vanished from his sails. “What?”

Gaius sighs. “Merlin, please close the door. You may come in as long as you promise not make any more incredibly unwise and unfounded declarations.”

Merlin does as he is told and moves to stand silently beside Arthur.

The Headmistress turns to face them. “If it will put both of your minds at rest, I will let you know that none of my students shall be participating in any sort of Registration and no one will be going anywhere. As Mr. Pendragon so thoroughly explained,” Arthur blushes, “the Ministry and Hogwarts have operated by separate rules in the past and we will enact that policy now.” Merlin relaxes. “I am planning on making this announcement at the close of breakfast but it appears as though you two were already a few steps ahead. I hope not too many other students take your heed or I fear there will be quite a rebellion on my hands when I enter the Great Hall.” It sounds like an admonishment but McGonagall is smiling so he’s not quite sure how to take it.

“However,” she continues, “before I can do that, I do have some rather important information I need to discuss with my colleagues so if you gentlemen would be so kind,” she gestures toward the door. Merlin and Arthur see themselves out.

In the hallway, Arthur is stalking back and forth in front of the door and Merlin’s worried he might lose all sense and storm back in. (Ugh, gross, now he’s _worried_ about _Arthur_ with his stupid handsome face and his stupid noble principles. It’s _disgusting_.)

“Are you alright?” Merlin asks. It’s the wrong thing to say.

“I’m fine, _Em_ rys,” Arthur snarls, not sounding fine at all. Merlin raises his eyebrows. Arthur scowls. “Just leave me alone.”

And he stalks off, down the hallway, disappearing from sight.

Great, so it’s going to be one of _those_ days.

\--

Merlin was mistaken. It wasn’t one those days it was one of those _weeks_.

“You aren’t waving your wand right!”

“Me? You’re the one who is brandishing it like a bloody sword!”

“Well it is an attack spell!”

“Gentlemen!”

Professor Potter cuts them off, standing before them with his hands on his hips. It’s a pretty good impersonation of Merlin’s mother. Merlin chances a glance around the classroom and sees that everyone else has stopped their own dueling to watch him and Arthur.

Merlin lowers his wand. “Sorry, Professor.”

He glances at Arthur and sees his cheeks are flushed. “Sorry.”

“All right everyone return to your duels. Remember the focus of today’s lesson is _counter maneuvers_ so keep an eye on your opponent’s footwork.” After watching the rest of the class get back to work, their professor turns his gaze back to Merlin and Arthur. “Are you two going to work together or am I going to need to reassign the groups?” Merlin is even more embarrassed. Professor Potter is by far the most relaxed of the professors so if he thinks they are being unruly…yikes.

“It’s my fault professor,” Arthur says. Merlin suppresses an eye roll. Of course the bloody Gryffindor would have to be noble and take the blame. However, it _is_ his fault for being a total and absolute _arse_.

Arthur is handling news of Agravaine’s new law worse than anyone else.

(Even Freya was doing well after McGonagall’s announcement and she had more reason to be upset than Arthur seeing as the law would _actually_ affect her. She decided to attend her classes despite Will telling her that she had a “golden excuse” to skive off. Morgana hit him with a jelly-leg jinx for that one. Both Will’s comment and his subsequent flailing around seemed to put Freya in a better mood.)

Merlin doesn’t understand why Arthur is so upset. Morgana is doing just fine, though she undoubtedly has a renewed fervor for her Visions and spends most of her time in their evil lair.

(When Merlin came to check on her she squeezed his arm rather hard and said, “You see why it’s necessary right? We need to know what Agravaine’s doing. So will you make the potion?”

Merlin nodded. “Yeah, Gaius says it looks like it enhances magical abilities, nothing harmful.”

Morgana grinned. “Two weeks?”

“Two weeks.”)

Arthur however is coiled tight, jaw clenched, eyes glaring at whatever he happens to be looking at (which happens to be Merlin much of the time). Merlin has tried to be patient and talk to Arthur and not let his bad mood infect him but he’s over it. Arthur has been curt and rude and built huge frigid walls around himself that Merlin isn’t in the mood to scale. If Arthur wants a fight, Merlin’s more than happy to give him one.

“Attack me.” Merlin takes a defensive position, feet wide, wand at the ready.

Arthur’s face goes from chagrined to astonished, his aristocratic features managing to sneer even when he’s surprised. “What?”

Merlin throws a silent _Expelliarmus_ , which Arthur easily counters, blocks, and deflects, his feet moving gracefully.

“Which set do you want to run?” Arthur asks. He’s eyeing Merlin with interest. The annoyingly familiar line is between his brows as he’s trying to puzzle out what Merlin is doing. (Gods they really have been spending too much time together.)

Merlin throws a stunning spell, which is once again deflected. Arthur takes two steps left, Merlin takes two steps left. “Forget the bloody _book_ , Pendragon.”

He fakes right, then spins left throwing a stunning spell, but Arthur’s watching his feet and anticipates it. He throws a shield at Merlin and Merlin’s own spell is coming back at him. He whirls to dodge it. He and Arthur are facing each other once again, knees slightly bent, wands ready. “We’ve been dueling since first-year. And I know you are going to take this the wrong way, but you could list dueling moves in your sleep.” Merlin throws another spell. Arthur dodges and retaliates with one of his own. “The lesson is counter maneuvers.” Merlin smirks. “So give me something to counter.”

Arthur’s face breaks into a mischievous grin that would terrorize lesser men. But Merlin just grins back, excitement bubbling in his chest.

(If he’s honest, which he _doesn’t_ want to be, he’s missed this. He’s missed the Arthur he’s gotten to know these past few weeks and the push and pull of their relationship. _Ugh_ , how _horrible_.)

Then everything is a blur.

He and Arthur are throwing spells and shields lightning fast. The voices in the classroom fade and all he sees before him is Arthur, muscles tensed, casting spells with all his might. A beam of sunlight cuts through the window and Arthur stands in a spotlight, blond hair near golden, his crooked grin out in full force.

Merlin hasn’t seen Arthur look this happy…maybe ever. It’s a good look on him. The excitement in his chest turns into a fluttery sensation (ugh, he _hates_ that _Arthur_ makes him feel this way).

The thought distracts him (stupid handsome _bastard_ ). Arthur presses the advantage. A quick disarming spell and Merlin is standing before him, sans wand.

“Do you yield?” Arthur’s head is thrown back, all cocky arrogance.

He wants to say “no” and hit Arthur with a wave of his wandless magic that is sizzling under his skin. But he’s not in the mood for a lecture from Gaius. “Tragically,” Merlin says instead. Arthur lets out his bark of a laugh in triumph. The fluttering intensifies (it’s horrible, like a swarm of locusts).

“Well,” Professor Potter says, “you didn’t follow a single direction in the book but I much prefer that to the arguing.” He winks at them. Merlin grins at Arthur and Arthur grins back for just a minute. But Arthur seems to catch himself, remember he’s angry, scowls, and storms from the room.

Merlin sighs, something more bitter than disappointment churning in his stomach. He’s sort of gotten used to being the one to pull Arthur out of his foul moods and took pride -- well, not pride, _exactly_ , but something close to it- -in being the only one who could manage it. But it turns out, he’s not that close to Arthur after all.

Merlin feels a bit like he’s been hit with the Medusa curse, his body turning cold, and a heaviness descends on him, dragging his heart to the floor.

\--

Gwaine grabs Lance’s arm before he enters the Great Hall. “I can’t do it again.”

Lance stares at him for a few moments. “You can’t do what again?”

Gwaine gestures down the hall where Arthur storms through the front doors of the castle to brood in the rain, the _drama queen_. “Arthur!” The past week had been awful, ever since Agravaine’s announcement. Arthur was fuming in the dorm and seething in class and taking it out on his poor Quidditch team. “Last practice was unbearable…” He had almost _killed_ Gwaine.

Lance seems to read his thoughts. “He didn’t almost kill you. But it was a rather unpleasant Quidditch practice…” Arthur had made them run for _hours_ despite the fact the sport took place in the _sky_. Gwaine’s feet still hadn’t fully recovered from the experience. There’s no way he will be able to _walk_ if tonight’s practice is anything like last week’s.

Gwaine pushes his hands through his hair, grabbing it in fistfuls. “We have to _do_ something.”

Lance crosses his arms. “What do you suggest we do? If I recall, your last suggestion of locking him in a broom cupboard with Merlin is the _reason_ he made you run all those laps.” Arthur had completely over reacted. They hadn’t even been in there that long. Merlin had almost instantaneously unlocked the door before Gwaine had been able to flee the scene. Arthur _should_ have jumped on the opportunity.

Gwaine snaps his fingers. “Merlin!”

“Do you even listen when I talk?”

He completely ignores Lance’s question and nods over his shoulder. “Come on, follow me.”

He leads Lance into the Great Hall and sits across from Merlin. After a very _loud_ and _unnecessary_ sigh, Lance sits next to him. Gwaine gives Merlin his most disarming smile.

Merlin’s fork stops midway to his mouth. “I take it you want something…”

Gwaine reaches across the table to take his hand. “You need to talk to Arthur.” He ignores Lance’s auditory wince.

“Why am I the one who always has to talk to people?” Merlin whines, pouting, gesturing wildly with his fork. “I’m not good at talking to people.” He punctuates the statement by pointing his fork at the boys across from him and a piece of spinach lands on Gwaine’s nose. “See!”

Gwaine crosses his eyes and removes the vegetation from his face. He shoots Lance a very subtle look where he makes his eyes huge and jerks his head toward Merlin. Lance rolls his eyes but puts his arms on the table and addresses the other boy. “You’re great with people but more importantly you’re great with _Arthur_.”

Merlin looks like he has never been more offended in his life. “I have _never_ been more offended in my life! Arthur is always arguing and yelling at me. And I already tried making him feel better and it didn’t work.” Merlin looks down at his lunch with his bottom lip stuck out. “He’s a huge prat.”

“That’s just his personality,” Gwaine assures him.

Lance cuffs Gwaine on the back of his head which is _uncalled for_ and looks at Merlin. “He’s actually much nicer when he’s with you.”

Merlin laughs. “I find that _very_ hard to believe.” These two are so oblivious they completely deserve one another.

Gwaine leans forward. “You should see him when you aren’t around and he’s in a fit. He’s a terror to behold.” Gwaine can practically _feel_ the blisters on his feet starting to form. “And I’d rather he get out of this mood before Quidditch tomorrow where he decides to just pelt us with Bludgers in a firing squad. He’s already going to be upset enough that the match was rescheduled.” McGonagall had canceled the match last weekend in light of the events, not that Gwaine blamed her but it certainly wasn’t helping with their Captain’s mood.

Merlin looks out at the rain beating against the windows in huge sheets and pouts some more. He looks a bit like a sad kitten. Gwaine certainly sees why Arthur finds him so adorable, even if _Arthur_ won’t admit it. “But it’s raining.”

Lance gives him a small smile. “You always said you preferred rainy days.”

A loud crash of thunder echoes through the Great Hall. Merlin sighs as he shrugs on his cloak. “If I’m not back in time for Charms, assume he’s _murdered_ me.”

\--

The rain is flooding the earth, the lake already swollen and overflowing. Arthur watches as the grass before him slowly turns into a swamp. His back is against the castle, under an awning of intricate stonework, the chill of the day freezing him to his very core. He prefers it to the heat of his anger. He’s _so tired_ of being angry.

Someone sits next to him with a squelch. He doesn’t have to look to know who it is. There are few people stupid enough to brave him in this mood, let alone during this weather, and even fewer who would do so without even bringing an umbrella with them. The _idiot_.

Arthur can’t figure it out. No matter how much of an arsehole Arthur is, no matter how much space Arthur tries to put between the two of them, Merlin will still reach out for him in the pouring fucking rain. Arthur doesn’t deserve it. But he wishes so ardently that he did.

Perhaps its time to start trying.

He looks at Merlin drenched and shaking and waves his wand, drying his clothes with a huge blast of air that blows Merlin’s hair across his forehead, the ends curling. Merlin gives Arthur a half-smile. “Thanks.” Arthur shrugs.

They sit in silence and listen to the rain beat against the world around them. It feels like they have stepped out of time, like maybe it’s just the two of them that exist in this world alone (it’s not as terrifying a thought as it should be). It’s the same feeling he got when he pulled Merlin behind the tapestry on that first day back and when he found Merlin sitting in front of a painting bathed in moonlight.

“It’s a power play,” Arthur says at last. These isolated meetings make him say things he never would otherwise. He doesn’t look at Merlin. “Agravaine. He wants people who will openly oppose him make themselves known early so he knows who he’s fighting against.”

Merlin swears. Arthur can feel his eyes on his face. “What makes you say that?”

Arthur gives a humorless chuckle. “Heard my father talk about it enough times, didn’t I?” And that’s what makes Arthur so _angry_. The fact that these people who have the power to make real changes and do real good for the magical community don’t even care about that. All they care about is hoarding the power with no thoughts for the consequences.

Merlin’s hand is on his shoulder, searing through the layers of his robes. “Arthur.”

This _thing_ happens when Merlin says his name and Arthur is powerless against it. Everything in him uncoils and loosens and his heart drops right out of his chest. His anger immediately evaporates as he leans into the sound of his name carried on timbre of Merlin’s voice.

He turns to look at Merlin and doesn’t bother to rid his expression of the pain and sadness and _something else_ that he can’t name but makes his pulse beat a tick faster. Merlin’s eyes are so open and earnest and _blue_. “You know no one here thinks you’re anything like your father or uncle, right?”

How is it that Merlin knows him so well he can pinpoint the exact problem Arthur is having without even himself being aware of it? Arthur shakes his head. “You can’t know that.”

“Arthur,” Merlin laughs, a real genuine laugh and warmth blossoms in Arthur’s chest, chasing the chill of the day out of his bones, “you’ve been on a one man crusade to establish supreme equality at this school since you stepped foot on the grounds.” He smirks. “Admittedly you were rather misguided at first, but after third year it was clear that you just really care about people.” Merlin leans forward, looks at him searchingly. “You don’t have to work so hard to prove that.” Gods how he wishes that were true.

Arthur’s lips turn up at one corner and he pushes his shoulder against Merlin’s. “You’re more perceptive than I give you credit for, Emrys.”

Merlin shrugs, still smiling, not moving his shoulder away. “It’s the same with Morgana isn’t it? You both want to distance yourself from your father. She handles it by being his total opposite and you’re doing everything you can to change your family’s legacy.”

The fact that Merlin sees him so clearly makes something _ache_ inside him. He doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t understand _Merlin_.

“There’s something about you, Merlin.”

He doesn’t mean to say it out loud but he _did_ and its there in the limited space between them. The world slows to a standstill as he watches a pleased smile spread across Merlin’s face and a dusting of pink color Merlin’s cheekbones. The warmth in Arthur spreads to his fingers and toes and probably the earth itself and he feels like sunlight might very well pour out of his chest.

It’s hard to breathe.

A drop of water splatters against Merlin’s cheek.

Merlin looks up for the source, eyes so wide and impossibly blue, but Arthur watches the drop of water, down the cheekbone sharp as glass, across the alabaster skin, along the jut of his jaw until it runs down the tendon of his neck and disappears from sight.

It’s harder to breathe.

He looks up and Merlin’s studying him, lips parted, eyes wide. They are sitting _so close_ and Merlin is _right there_ and it’s like Merlin’s a magnet he can’t resist (not that he’s even trying) and why on earth did he put so much _space_ between them this past week? He sways just a bit forward and Merlin does the same and there’s Merlin’s breath against his cheek --

A huge wave of water splashes over the two of them, dousing them entirely. Merlin falls backward and Arthur jerks away sharply. Through the blur of the rain, Arthur can barely make out two figures. One standing in a puddle nearby (clearly the culprit of the splash) might be Gwaine. The other figure looks like Lance, though it’s hard to tell because he’s buried his face in his hands in his usual look of exasperation.

It looks like Gwaine might be grinning. “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t kill him! Charms is in five!” Gwaine yells over the rain.

Arthur rolls his eyes, hauls Merlin to his feet, and stomps back toward the castle, not bothering to wait for anyone. He can’t quite look at Merlin, there’s still this feeling of _something_ swirling inside him, making his fingers tingle and his head dizzy.

He hadn’t been about to _kill_ Merlin he’d been about to -- well he didn’t know what he was about to do -- or, more accurately, he _did_ know but he was _not thinking_ about that because clearly he was sleep deprived and the stress of his familial situation was finally getting to him and some sort of _fever_ must have over came him as that was the _only_ logical explanation.

(But is it really?)

Gwaine skips up next to him as they climb the stairs of the castle, grinning from ear to ear. “Wasn’t interrupting anything was I?”

Arthur blushes which is _so stupid_ because he doesn’t have anything to blush _about_ because _nothing happened_ or was going to happen. “Of course not,” Arthur snarls.

Gwaine throws his head back and laughs. “Whatever you say, Princess.”

Arthur swings his arm to push Gwaine off the stairs but he’s already dancing away, cackling for all he’s worth.

\--

The two weeks pass at an agonizingly slow pace.

The teachers pile on more homework than is possible to complete, Elena and Gwen design badges in protest of the new law that hundreds of students wear with pride, Will loudly discuses ways to overthrow the government in the Slytherin common room while Mordred begs him to stop yelling so they can all get some sleep, Arthur calms down and he and Merlin resume their usual banter, and Morgana finally finishes her preliminary guide to reading the stars for the purposes of Astrology (the past models are both horrendously out of date and inaccurate, her star chart hardly correlated with her personality _at all_ ).

Professor Nimueh beams when she turns it in. “This is great work, Morgana. I imagine you’ll be published before you even graduate.” All the other students have left and only Morgana remains. “How is that other project you’ve been working on? Have you been able to access Old Magic?”

Morgana pastes a cheery smile on her face. “No luck so far, but I’m hopeful.”

Nimueh pats her shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll crack it in no time,” she says with a wink and Morgana excuses herself from the room.

Morgana can’t explain why she’s still keeping it to herself. Well, she sort of can. She assumes if she tells Nimueh about how out of control the magic is (how each time she is able to access the magic it feels stronger and more powerful and more often than not something catches on fire or explodes), Nimueh’s going to make her stop. Just like Gwen would and Arthur would and probably even Merlin although he’s impulsive enough to join her in trying to summon the power.

But it _is_ helping. She thinks. Her Visions are almost exclusively of the past now and the scenes play out for longer periods of time. The glittering of metal submerged under water, the shine of a necklace raised into the sun, a bright blue burst of light coming from a staff. She hasn’t had one quite as strong as she did the night she watched herself nearly stab her father but she _knows_ the potion will help.

Morgana clears her throat as she looks around their evil lair. “I hereby call to order --“

“Is that really how you are going to start each meeting?” Arthurs asks.

“-- the second meeting of the Evil Knights of Camelot.”

Their schedules didn’t quite align for all of them to be present at once (as Arthur so clearly illustrated on a rather terrifying chart). Morgana and Arthur had prefect duties, Morgana was the head of Astronomy club, Arthur had Quidditch, and Merlin was in at least one hundred other activities, not to mention they all were drowning under the intense coursework of Sixth Year. So it was rather difficult to arrange illegal midnight meetings.

Morgana sits herself on top of the teacher’s desk, glaring at Arthur. “And _yes_ , there is value in performing rituals! I believe we should start by sharing our findings.”

“Mor _gana_ , we talk almost everyday --“

Morgana shoots a final glare at Arthur and sweeps a hand before her. “Merlin, you have the floor.”

Merlin presses his lips together and shoots Arthur a smirk. Her brother gives a half-hearted glower in response. Gods if she had realized how much of these meetings would consist of the two of them eye-fucking she never would have invited them.

Merlin sits on one of the empty desks and swings his legs in front of him. “I talked to Gaius. The good news is that he was pretty enthusiastic about my interest in rare and ancient potions and enchantments and gave me a direction to look in that narrows the search down considerably. The bad news is I now have to write an essay about my findings but,” he shrugs, “I guess it will be worth it when I find what it is.”

Morgana gives a curt nod. “Excellent. Arthur?”

Arthur clears his throat. “I’ve read the whole will several times. The only thing that’s suspicious is that Agravaine is the one who is our guardian. He probably just changed his name. But I can’t do any legitimacy spells because this isn’t the original document. From what I can tell it’s a sixth copy at least. I wrote to Geoffrey but haven’t heard anything back yet.” Arthur shakes his head. “I need an original if you want me to do anything useful. My time would be better spent scouring books with Emrys.”

Morgana sucks her teeth, patience worn thin. “You just want to spend more time with him.” He glares at her but she carries on before he can comment. “And the Wizard Council?”

Arthur groans. “It’s long.”

Morgana raises an eyebrow. “Which means?”

“I’m working on it,” Arthur says through clenched teeth.

Morgana turns her attention back to Merlin. “And the potion?”

Merlin sighs and takes a small purple vial out of his pocket. Morgana’s eyes light up, snatching it quickly from his hand. Arthur fumes behind them, she had never managed to get him on board with the idea. Merlin still looks like he might be sick.

She pats his cheek. “Don’t look so worried, Merlin. It’s going to be fine.”

She bids them goodnight before the two of them start their thinly veiled flirtation and races to her dorm. Morgana downs the potion in one go and throws herself on her bed, buzzing with excitement, ready for her dreams to take her.

\--

At approximately 3:33 am the entire castle wakes up to a shrill scream ringing in their ears, piercing as the wailing of a mandrake, and the foundation of the building gives a huge echoing shudder as a crack splits the castle in two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates on Wednesdays.
> 
> Next Chapter Features: A Seer in the hospital, a Quidditch disaster, and a healthy dose of teenage angst
> 
> Comments and Kudos appreciated :)


	8. Chapter 8

Arthur has never liked the hospital wing. Maybe its because he only ever comes up here after particularly nasty Quidditch injuries and he’s forced to miss out on the celebration with his Housemates. The antiseptic smell of the cleaning supplies clashes unpleasantly with the herbaceous smell of potions brewing. And it’s _cold_. Why would a room where people are supposed to recover be so frigid and unwelcoming?

(It’s a painful reminder of another hospital, of another one of his family members. He can only hope that Morgana fares significantly better.)

Arthur sits in a hard metal chair, the cushion so worn it is virtually gone entirely, staring at the pale form of his sister on the hospital bed. He’d been startled awake just like everyone else, pressing his hands to his ears trying to push the horrifying shriek out of his skull, the castle shaking as though hit with an earthquake, and a stone sinking deep into Arthur’s stomach. He wanted to be surprised when Longbottom entered their dorm at 4:00 am and called him to the hospital wing, but he had already been dreading what might have happened.

Morgana’s breathing deeply, completely still in her slumber, her hair a dark contrast to the pristine white of the pillow and bed. Madame Pomfrey gave her a sleeping draught, insisting she needed rest.

Arthur can’t look at Merlin.

(Arthur can’t _stop_ looking at Merlin.)

He’s seated across from him, in what Arthur can only hope is an even more uncomfortable chair. The fact that Merlin is pale and sweating and shaking slightly like he might pass out at any moment does nothing to temper Arthur’s ire. He looks worse than Morgana, with his head in his hands, his breath uneven (Madam Pomfrey has been by thrice now to offer Merlin a Pepper-Up potion which he declines each time).

Merlin should feel worse ( _Arthur_ should feel worse).

Arthur’s thoughts are a painful contradictory spiral of blame and anger. Merlin shouldn’t have brewed the potion for her, Morgana shouldn’t have asked for it in the first place, Arthur should have put his foot down and not let them do it, maybe Merlin made a mistake and _he_ did this to her, but Gaius said the ingredients should have been fine…

Morgana jerks in her sleep, pulling him out of his thoughts. Arthur scoots his chair closer and Merlin looks up with bloodshot eyes (his heart does not squeeze painfully at the sight).

His sister’s eyes flutter open, squinting against the harsh white of the room. Dawn broke some time ago and the room is flooded with sunlight. Her bright eyes land on Arthur. She furrows her brow and looks at Merlin on her other side.

“You two look like hell.”

Arthur takes a deep breath so he doesn’t immediately _strangle_ his now conscious sister. It’s too easy to be annoyed with her now that he knows she isn’t dying. “Do you remember what happened?” he grits out, trying and failing to keep the tension out of his voice.

Her eyes light up and she sits up quickly, throwing an arm out to steady herself as she sways slightly. “Yes! I _Saw_ something!”

“Mor _gana_ ,” Arthur says fighting his irritation as he gently pushes his sister back onto the bed. “You could have _died_.”

Morgana pushes his hands off her and sits up straighter. “Don’t be so dramatic, Arthur, I’m _fine_.”

Arthur clenches his teeth and looks to Merlin for support only to remember that he’s angry with Merlin. He scowls. “You split the castle in half.”

Morgana opens her mouth but no sound comes out. “Oh.”

“Yes, _oh_. And you’re screaming woke the entire building.” He doesn’t talk about how it felt, how he _knew_ it was her and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. The fear that stitched his throat shut.

Morgana purses her lips and turns to Merlin who has been silent, pale as a corpse. “It was the dragon claw, right? It would have enhanced my ability to --“ she cuts off abruptly and looks between them, “-- my magic. The dragon claw enhances magic.”

Merlin gives a feeble shrug. “Maybe.” Merlin’s eyes fill with tears. “Morgana, I’m so sorry.” His voice cracks (Arthur’s heart gives a painful squeeze once more).

Morgana waves him off with a scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin, that’s Arthur’s domain.” Arthur’s sure his teeth are going to shatter. Morgana keeps addressing Merlin, consoling _him_ even though _she’s_ the one in the hospital. “The potion worked, there’s nothing to be sorry for. Next time we’ll just --“

“There is not going to be a next time!” Arthur shouts, glaring at his sister. “You could have been hurt! Gods I never should have let you use it in the first --“

“Arthur!” Morgana grabs his arm in a painful squeeze, digging her nails in, eyes fierce. “I had a _Vision_ , just like I did over the summer. I _know_ \--“

“Mr. Pendragon!” Madam Pomfrey appears behind Merlin, giving them all a stern look. “I believe I specifically told you to come _fetch me_ when your sister awakens.”

Arthur sinks back in his chair. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

Merlin pulls his chair out of the way and the Healer makes her way to Morgana. Madam Pomfrey is sort of a legend, her rather matronly appearance a fierce contradiction to the military manner with which she conducts her business, treating countless ailments and maladies under a strict only-ask-the-necessary-questions policy. Arthur imagines if she didn’t have this policy, most of the students would probably die when the illegal potions they brewed didn’t pan out the way they planned.

The stern Healer presses her hand to Morgana’s forehead and summons a thermometer, some potions, and some other rather terrifying looking instruments from her office. “I need to treat your sister and then she is going to need _lots_ of rest. You both,” she looks at Merlin who seems to shrink under her gaze, “may return during evening visitation hours.”

“But,” Morgana tries to weakly protest but is silenced by an intense stare from Madam Pomfrey. She lets out a breath and collapses into the pillows. (It speaks volumes to how terrifying Madam Pomfrey is that Morgana conceded defeat so easily.) She looks between Merlin and Arthur. “ _Fine_. But _both_ of you come back as soon as you can. I have _much_ to tell you.” She gives a firm glare at Madam Pomfrey that suggests she doesn’t want to mention anything in front of her. Ignoring this, Madam Pomfrey unceremoniously shoves the thermometer into Morgana’s grimacing face.

It’s awkward in the hall outside the hospital wing. Though the two of them haven’t spoken all night, it feels more weighted with Morgana awake. Arthur’s anger is still simmering, though less sharp, and it _wants_ an outlet and the nearest target is Merlin. He hates it, this feeling, hates that he feels it about _Merlin_ , but he doesn’t know what to do about it.

So he leaves.

“Where are you going?” Merlin asks.

Arthur doesn’t bother turning around. “To the Quidditch pitch, there’s a match today.” The match had been rescheduled after the New Registration Laws had been enacted. Not that Merlin paid any attention to things like that.

Something jerks his arm back and he halts in his tracks to glare at Merlin. Merlin’s still looking sickly and guilty but he’s angry now too. “You can’t seriously think you can play? You didn’t sleep last night.”

Arthur scowls, his anger bubbling. “I have a _duty_ to my team. I’m the Captain.”

Merlin juts out his chin. “What was the point of your three-pronged practice schedule for your reserve team if you aren’t going to use them?” Surprise momentarily colors Arthur’s feelings. He hadn’t realized Merlin was paying attention when he talked about that. “Would you let one of your teammates play if they were in your condition?”

He wouldn’t, which makes him angrier. That Merlin knows him so well, knows just what to say to prove his point and get right under his skin. He leans into Merlin’s face. “Don’t mistake our _truce_ for friendship, Emrys.”

He turns and storms down the hall ignoring Merlin’s call of, “I would never want to be friends with someone as stupid as you!”

\--

Gwen finds Merlin with his back against the wall, his head in his hands, wishing he could turn back time. He shouldn’t have made Morgana that potion, even though Gaius said it looked like a simple spell to increase one’s magical aptitude, he shouldn’t have yelled at Arthur who had every _right_ to be angry with him, he shouldn’t have let the prat go to the dumb game and probably get himself killed, he shouldn’t- -

“How is she?” Gwen sits beside him, pressing their shoulders together. He’s missed this, missed _Gwen_.

He never should have let Arthur worm his way into his life in the first place.

Merlin sighs. “Morgana woke up, seems like her usual self. Yelled at Arthur, argued with Madam Pomfrey, made several demands.”

Gwen smiles. “That’s our Morgana.” Gwen pushes their shoulders together more firmly. “And how are you?”

Merlin presses his lips together, feels his eyes sting. “It’s my fault,” he whispers. He shakes his head. “She asked me to make a potion for her and I just _did_ it and she could have…” It’s a sentence he’s finished one thousand times in his head, over and over since the screams first woke him but he can’t say it out loud. He buries his face in his hands.

“Merlin, look at me.” When he doesn’t, she gently grabs his face and wipes the tears from his cheeks. “If you hadn’t made it, don’t you think Morgana would have just done it herself?” Merlin shrugs. “You know she would have. I’m not saying it wasn’t dangerous or stupid,” she gives him a pointed look, “but her going to you, someone who is _very skilled_ at making potions, was the least reckless of her reckless options.”

Merlin sniffles. “You talked to her?”

Gwen shrugs. “I tried to but Madam Pomfrey chased me out after a few minutes.” Gwen purses her lips. “I don’t think she’d be honest with me anyway. But I’m glad she’s been confiding in you.” He doesn’t know if he’d go that far. Morgana is still firmly rooted in her own world, only letting Arthur and Merlin visit for brief stints of time when she _needs_ something from them. She wouldn’t even show them the infamous book she got that horrid recipe from.

(It reminds him of first and second year, of a scared and upset Morgana he’s rarely seen since. Of a Morgana who retreated so far into herself and only confessed her fears when Merlin found her weeping in a long forgotten room in the dungeon.

“My magic,” she whispered, though her tears, “it’s not _strong_. Not like everyone else. I have to work so much _harder_ to turn by pincushion into _anything_ or get my wand to do what I want.”

Merlin sat by her side and hugged her close. “Sometimes it just takes longer.” He didn’t know if that was true, but it seemed like something his mother would say.

She gave a pitiful scoff. “Well, that’s easy for you to say. Everything comes so easy to you.” The words could have been scathing and accusatory and if Morgana had been feeling more like herself, they probably would have been but instead she said them like fact. Merlin didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t as though he could explain how his wandless magic was always at his fingertips not after swearing up and down to his mother and Gaius that he would _never_ tell another soul.

He chose his words carefully. “There’s different types of magic, yeah? So maybe you haven’t found your calling yet.”

She chewed on her lip and looked at him with huge wet eyes. “I’ve been having dreams.”

“Like what?”

She gave a wet laugh. “ _This_. I dreamed you would find me _here_.” Merlin told her she should talk to Gaius who sent her to Nimeuh and suddenly the much more confident and sure Morgana was back with her arms full of books on dream interpretation.

And then on the first day of Divination in third year when Trelawney threw herself back in her armchair the moment Morgana emerged up the trap door and said that her aura was so powerful it was clouding the professor’s inner-eye, Morgana grinned as though she was seeing the sun for the first time.

He can only hope that Morgana doesn’t reach rock bottom again before she lets anyone in.)

Guilt gnaws at him. “Are you mad?”

After a few moments she says, “I’m not very good at being mad.” She looks at him sidelong. “And even if I was, the anger would be entirely unjustified. She’s my best friend. I just want to know she’s alright and if she needs some time before she can talk to me, I can wait.” She gives Merlin a measuring look. “You’ll look out for her?”

He nods fiercely as he wipes the last traces of tears from his cheeks. He would certainly try his best. With Gwen’s shoulder still firmly pressed against his, Merlin finds himself matching her breathing, calming himself down. Going by Gwen’s tiny smile, he thinks it was likely her plan all along. “You are truly an angel amongst mortals, Guinevere.”

Gwen lets out a chiming laugh. “That’s quite the line.”

Merlin gives a small grin. “It should be, I heard Lance say it often enough while he _pined_ over you fourth year.” Gwen had very briefly dated the lesser of the Pendragon twins until clearly she saw him for the prat he was and came to her senses. Or at least, that’s what Merlin _assumes_ happened.

Gwen smiles. “That does sound like him.” She stands and holds out a hand for Merlin. “Now get up.”

“Why?” Merlin asks already letting her haul him to his feet. It is difficult to say no to Gwen.

“ _We_ are going to the Quidditch match.”

Merlin gives a look of disgust. “No thank you. I’d rather sit in this hall and stew in my own guilt for the next few hours.”

Gwen shakes her head. “Nope. Not an option. I have hardly seen you this year and we can’t visit Morgana until this evening anyway. I want to go support my boyfriend and Elena has made a huge sign for Mithian that I’m sure is going to embarrass her.” She looks at him closely. “And I know you’re worried about Arthur.” Merlin scowls but doesn’t bother to deny it. “Come on, it’ll be good for you.”

Merlin pouts as Gwen drags him down the hall. “ _Fine_ , but I get to complain for _at_ _least_ half the match.”

Merlin doesn’t really _get_ Quidditch. Brooms hate him, he has no hand-eye coordination, and the idea of trying to dodge possessed objects that are enchanted to attack you _on purpose_ does not sound like fun to him. The only matches he ever attends are when his House is playing and even then he tends to spend most of the time talking with Morgana.

He sits between Gwen and Elyan, high up in the stands, Elena behind them with the promised sign. It is rather large (Percival, another Hufflepuff, is holding it up as it is much too large for Elena) and Mithian has never been one for enjoying attention. Elena gives him a wink and Merlin just shakes his head. “I don’t know why she puts up with you,” he teases.

Elena throws her head back and laughs. “Me either! But I’m glad she does!”

The match starts with everyone flying high in the air, the Quaffle passing between the teams too rapidly for Merlin to follow. Elyan’s string of running commentary does nothing to elucidate the situation.

“Arthur’s been really training them hard. Ooh, see that? He and Lance and Emily have been working on their passing since they’re Chasers- -they score the goals! Like that!- -and Gwaine got a new Beater club- - oh _come on_! - -it’s a good thing too because the Ravenclaw beaters have us beat on size- -although they’ve got nothing on _Percival_ \- -Ow! It was a compliment Perce, geez- -nice save Leon!- -let’s just hope Gemma can catch the snitch, Mithian is something to be feared- -there she goes!- -oops false alarm.” Mithian pulls out of a graceful dive. Well, Merlin assumes it’s graceful, she doesn’t fall off her broom so it looks pretty impressive to Merlin.

Merlin tunes him out. He looks at the sea of red and blue around him, all the faces cheering. It seems like no one is much concerned with being awoken in the middle of the night and the castle breaking. Although apparently the crack was fairly easy to patch up.

(Gaius was helping a group of teachers with the repairs as Merlin made his way to the game. He caught his arm and gave him a withering glare, which Merlin shrank against.

“It was the potion wasn’t it? The one you asked me about. The one you said was for ‘ _intellectual curiosity’_?” He spat out the phrase. The eyebrow was out in full force.

Merlin nodded miserably, ready for Gaius to expel him. He deserved it.

Gaius sighed and looked back at the huge crack in the floor of the entry hall. “We will talk about this later.”

So that was something to look forward to.)

Ravenclaw scores and the stands erupt in applause. Then Merlin gets a funny prickling sensation on the back of his neck, his body tenses in anticipation.

It’s the feeling between a strike of lightning and the thunder you know will follow.

It’s not a pleasant feeling.

He’s about to ask Gwen if she feels it too when Elena yells, “ _oh my god_!” And the stands around them erupt in screams.

Flying into the stadium, screaming for all its worth, is the missing gargoyle from Transfiguration class a few weeks ago. A few birds follow in its wake and Merlin isn’t sure if they are trusting the gargoyle’s migration patterns or it has recruited them to join its cause. Given how fast it took the classroom, he suspects the latter.

There is no mistaking its destination as it has its eyes set for Arthur, a monster come to meet its maker. It streams through the sky, fangs barred, and before Arthur can even turn around to look at it, the creature collides with him. Merlin watches in horror as Arthur falls from his broom and starts plummeting toward the earth.

Everything seems to slow down, the voices around him fade, his sight narrows in on Arthur and his magic swells to the surface, crackling beneath his skin. Without waiting for Merlin’s permission, its pouring out of him into the world, _into Arthur_ , and slowing his fall.

With a gasp and a sting sharp as lightning, the world is back and Arthur hits the ground with a thud. Merlin is already pushing through the stands, down the stairs, Elyan and Gwen right behind him.

When he gets to the field Arthur is crumpled on the ground, the beast over him, stone claws raised ready to strike, when it explodes into a million shards.

\--

The world comes into focus in blurring, pulsing waves.

He’s flying.

He’s _falling_.

Arthur was hit by a Bludger? No, a _beast_ of his own creation and he fell, off his broom, the ground rushing toward him too fast to react, too fast to do anything but brace for impact and pray.

But something has happened.

Time is slow and stretched, thick like honey and just as sweet on his tongue. He’s falling but its leisurely and gentle, the breeze itself is cradling him, carrying him safely to the ground. He feels electric, impossible, euphoric. The world around him is just as slow, his teammates frozen in air, the stands a silent sea of red and blue and _there_ something molten gold. He instinctively reaches out with his senses, wanting to connect with this brilliant force of nature, keep it close to him forever. He finds it, prods it, and every nerve ignites and it’s blinding and terrifying and _amazing_.

He hits the ground.

The world dims.

“Stand back!” A dragon roars, except it’s not a dragon, it’s a person. But it _is_ a dragon, sometimes (which makes sense to him now but it won’t when he tries to remember this).

An explosion.

“Arthur!” That voice. Calling to him through time itself.

“Is he alright?”

“Give him some space.”

“Arthur?” Softer, closer. That. Voice.

“It seems as though he only broke his leg, which is nothing short of a miracle.”

“We need to get him to Madam Pomfrey.”

“I’ll take him.” He should answer. That voice. No, he’s _mad_ at that voice though he can’t remember why. But the voice sounds so _worried_ (it physically pains him, when that voice is worried).

The world flares to life in a burst of color.

He opens his eyes and sees the cool blue October sky above him. Merlin is looking down at him (annoying Merlin, idiot Merlin, _beautiful_ Merlin), panic written across his features. His teammates and the Ravenclaw team are nearby, as well as a good handful of teachers, wands raised, beast vanquished.

A fine layer of dust covers him from head to toe.

“ _Mer_ linnnnn!” He greets with a smile. Merlin furrows his brows and Arthur tries to raise his fingers to smooth out the crease between them but his hand isn’t listening to him the way it’s supposed too. Instead it twitches in dew-wet grass, a wave.

Gwaine looks around at the team. “He must have hit his head pretty hard,” he mumbles. Leon cuffs him on the back of the head.

But Arthur doesn’t feel like he hit his head, he feels like he could _fly_ , without a broomstick or anything.

“ ’m fine,” Arthur says jumping to his feet in one swift move. His right leg flares in pain and promptly gives out. He staggers upon standing, falling against Merlin, burying his face in Merlin’s neck. The skin is cool against his scorching cheek. He pushes more firmly against it.

“Er?” Merlin’s voice is high pitched and it makes him laugh his breath ghosting across the soft hairs at the nape of Merlin’s neck. He desperately wants to _touch_ , to see if those hairs are as soft as they look but he needs to _focus_.

He straightens up, still pressed against Merlin, and gives his team a stern look. “You need to keep playing, we can’t afford to forfeit the match. The honor of our House depends on it.”

He turns and says something equally as authoritative and brilliant to the teachers but he isn’t quite sure what it is because his tongue isn’t working and it feels like he’s caught _fire_ where he presses against Merlin but its warm and _good_ and he leans into the flames wanting them to ignite his whole essence and then the everything goes dark.

When the world swims into focus again, he’s leaning heavily into Merlin who is grumbling into his ear. His arm over Merlin’s shoulder, Merlin’s arm around his waist. They’re dancing -- no that’s not it. They’re _walking_ , climbing, stairs. Stairs are harder than they should be since he can fly.

His leg _throbs_.

“Stupid prat, can’t even get injured properly, gods forbid you convince your _muscular_ Quidditch team to carry you to the infirmary, _oh no_ , it’s got to be _Merlin_ , because your dying wish is for your team to play the blasted sport without you and for me to accidently drop you down a stairwell and then spend the rest of my life rotting in Azkaban for manslaughter.”

Arthur’s face is still pressed into Merlin’s neck so when he sings, “you volunteeeered,” his lips brush the cool skin, electricity crackling through him, a flame ignites deep in the pit of his stomach.

He wants to do it again, _on purpose_ , without the words accompanying the action.

He tires to, but Merlin jumps in surprise at Arthur’s voice. The two of them stumble into the wall, Merlin pressed flat against it, Arthur caging him in.

Arthur blinks, looking up from the enticing line of Merlin’s neck. Merlin’s glaring at him. “If you’re awake, would you mind actually _walking_?”

Merlin’s eyes are the same deep blue as always but there’s a storm of gold (stardust gold, sunlight-parting-the-clouds _gold_ ) swirling in the depths. He wants to _disappear_ into it. Arthur leans in, his nose bumping Merlin’s. A spark of electricity zaps between them, a bright flash of light bouncing from skin to skin.

His blood _sings_ in his veins.

Merlin makes a noise high in his throat. “Arthur?”

Everywhere they touch, his arms on Merlin’s shoulders, their legs tangled together, is tingling and buzzing and _electric_. That feeling of something sweet like honey and sharp like ozone seeps into his body where it touches Merlin.

That same feeling he got when he fell from the sky.

Merlin’s eyes widen as if realizing something. “We need to get you to Madam Pomfrey.”

The feeling is coming from _Merlin_. And Merlin wants to _leave_. Merlin tries to dart under Arthur’s arms but he pushes him more fully against the wall, falls against him and buries his face in Merlin’s hair. Arthur’s head swims as _something_ rushes into him in a violent surge and he closes his eyes and _breathes_. It’s dizzying and burning and _good_. His leg catches fire and he nearly cries out in pain but then it is gone and he _knows_ his leg has stitched itself back together.

He opens his eyes to see Merlin’s eyes flaring bright gold, pupils blown wide, breathing ragged. He looks petrified and maybe a little of something else. His mouth is open but he makes no sound. He watches Merlin swallow.

Arthur tears his eyes from Merlin’s mouth (just as tempting as his neck) and looks into his eyes in astonishment. His mouth curls into a half-smile and puts his hand against Merlin’s face, his fingers fitting against the cheekbone like a piece of a puzzle sliding into place. Merlin makes that noise again as Arthur pushes his thumb against the swell of his bottom lip. “You saved me,” Arthur says, amazed.

Then the world flares out of focus once more.

\--

“When I said I wanted to see you tonight, I didn’t mean for you to land yourself in the hospital.”

Her brother cracks open an eye to glare at her from the hospital bed next to hers. Merlin had come staggering in with Arthur several hours ago, Arthur looking like he was sloshed within an inch of his life, Merlin looking on the cusp of a panic attack. The moment Arthur hit the bed Merlin had sprinted from the room, promising he would come back during visiting hours.

After waking in shrieking agony with the power of the entire world coursing under her skin (it had only lasted one brief moment, that feeling of raw, infinite, _impossible_ power) and being dragged to the hospital wing in the middle of the night, Morgana had a rather boring day. All she wanted to do was talk to Merlin and Arthur and tell them about her Vision. Then the _old_ _bat_ had drugged her with sleeping draughts.

(She only woke once to find Professor Nimueh sitting beside her bed a look of worry on her face.

“I think you’ve been lying to me, Morgana.” It was a fairly terrifying thing to see upon waking.

She told Nimueh about accessing Old Magic and how she couldn’t do a whole lot but it was making her Visions clearer. She told her about the potion recipe she found and the Vision she Saw last night (only feeling marginally guilty that she told Nimueh before Arthur and Merlin, had Arthur not _insisted_ on berating her, he could have found out first thing this morning).

When she finished she looked at Nimueh with trepidation. “Are you mad?”

Nimueh laughed. “Morgana, how could I ever be mad at my best student?” Morgana beamed. “However I do think for your safety, it would be better for you to only attempt to access the magic when I’m present. We can schedule some private lessons. And promise me you won’t try anything else from the book without asking.” Nimueh raised an eyebrow dangerously.

Morgana nodded and looked beseeching. “Of course,” she lied. “I’m just so grateful to have your help.” She smiled her sweetest smile hoping Nimueh would buy it. Like _hell_ she wasn’t using that potion again. Not after what she felt last night, not after knowing she could access such powerful magic, _and_ it made her Visions stronger.

(There was a small handwritten note scrawled right next to the potion recipe in her ancient book of Old Magic: _you will need this in the end_. And M was right, she certainly had.)

Nimueh stood and looked out the window with a wistful smile. “Destiny is swinging around the Circle of Time, Morgana. I can feel it.”)

Arthur raises a hand to his head, squinting against the light of the room. “Ugh,” he moans, voice croaky, “do you know if we won the match?”

Morgana rolls her eyes. “I love that your first question isn’t about your physical condition but rather the game.” Arthur raises an eyebrow. “And I believe Mithian caught the snitch so, tough luck.” Arthur scowls and puts his head in his hands. He cares far too much about the House Cup as far as Morgana is concerned.

Madam Pomfrey swirls around the two of them, checking temperatures, giving Arthur a potion the consistency of chalk that he gags on for several minutes while she clicks her tongue. She then drops a handful of chocolate frogs on the table next to them and warns them that if they argue too much she will separate them and put a _literal_ frog in their throat so they pose no more risks to their own health.

Terrifying woman.

“Do you remember what happened?” Morgana asks in an overly sweet voice, popping a chocolate frog into her mouth, parroting Arthur’s earlier question to her.

The potion seems to take effect as Arthur shakes his head and looks around the room. “Where’s Merlin?”

Morgana shrugs. “It’s not visiting hours. Your team tried to storm in after the game and Madam Pomfrey nearly killed Gwaine.” She quirks an eyebrow. “And you didn’t answer the question.”

Arthur looks down and plays with a loose thread on the bed sheets. “It’s a bit hazy.” He looks up at Morgana, his cheeks are slightly flushed but she’s not sure if it’s from the potion or not. “I fell off my broom. I got attacked by my gargoyle.”

Morgana hums. “Yes. How very Victor Frankenstein of you.”

“Is that a muggle reference?”

She smiles. “You’re learning.” She knows it isn’t the whole story but clearly it’s all he wants to share at the moment. She’ll have to ask Merlin about it later. She glances around the room to make sure Madam Pomfrey is in her office. As Arthur grabs his own piece of chocolate she throws up a small silencing charm around their beds so the seventh-year Slytherin at the end of the line of cots can’t eavesdrop (he was in the halls and out of bed when Morgana had severed the castle; she would feel bad for him but Cenred was kind of a huge arsehole). “I know what’s wrong with father.”

Arthur’s head snaps up to look at her, frog wiggling in his grasp trying for an escape. “You Saw it?”

Morgana’s smile widens and she nods her head. “It’s a charm of some sort, it needs to be placed under his bed.”

Arthur leans forward, lowering his voice. “Well, who did it?”

Morgana swallows. “Me.”

Just as with the Vision of Uther’s Demise, this one played the past and future alongside one another. There was the same castle, she stormed through it without regard for anyone she passed and placed the dripping black parcel beneath the King’s bed. Then there was Agravaine walking through St. Mungo’s waiting for Healers to leave and replacing the charm beneath the hospital bed.

Arthur listens to her explain the dream with a patience he rarely affords, munching away on his sweets. When she finishes he sighs and leans against the pillows. “What do you think it means? The part with…you?”

Morgana shakes her head. “I think the dreams are…warnings maybe. And I’m supposed to figure out what’s happening before history repeats itself.” She takes a deep breath and tells Arthur about her _other_ dreams, how their father’s there and he’s there and she’s even seen Merlin a few times. She carefully avoids the topic of the book or the harnessing of Old Magic.

(Soon, she’ll tell him about all of that _soon_.)

It would be easier if her Sight were clearer or more profound. There were certain Seers like the gifted Cassandra of ancient Greece and nearly all the Centaurs who could see the story of the world in its entirety and pick and choose when to examine certain pieces more closely. Morgana had been hoping the potion would have given her a skill like that. The image she got had certainly been clear but she still had so _many_ questions.

Arthur gives her a skeptical look. “You really think you’re seeing the past? That everyone you know _now_ was also alive back then?”

“I’m not entirely sure. But it’s what I’m working with at the moment.” She gives her brother a small smile, finally voicing aloud the thoughts she’s been having since she Saw her father and brother wearing crowns atop their heads. “You don’t find it odd that there’s a Morgana and an Arthur and a Merlin and a Lance and a Guinevere and a handful of other students all named like the _Tales of the Great Merlin_?”

Arthur shrugs. “Not particularly. There’s about five Harrys, four Rons, and a dozen Hermiones in this school right now. Does that mean there’s going to be a resurgence of Voldemort four times over?” Morgana shoots him a glare but he gives her a gentle smile. “Wizards name their children after famous stories all the time.”

“You know I don’t believe in coincidences.”

Arthur smiles “I know.” He throws a small card at her and she catches it between two fingers. He nods to it. “You really think that’s you?” The card bares her namesake, Morgan le Fay. The woman in the picture is much older than she is and _angry_ , her jaw set tight and deep purple circles beneath her eyes.

Morgana shrugs. “Maybe, if I don’t wash my hair for a few hundred years.”

Arthur snorts and shakes his head at her. “And you think Merlin is… _Merlin_?”

It’s Morgana’s turn to snort. “Point taken.” She loves Merlin dearly but she’s seen him fall through the missing step on the main stairs several hundred times. Surely one of the greatest sorcerers of all time wouldn’t be that clumsy. She tables her theory for discussion another time.

They sit in silence for a bit before Arthur looks over at her. “So where do we go from here?”

Morgana leans forward. “Uther fell ill before he went to St. Mungo’s. Which means that there would have been a charm under his bed at the manor.” Arthur’s eyes widen. “I think it’s still there.” Morgana smiles. “And _we_ can go get it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates on Wednesdays.
> 
> Next Chapter Features: A good ol' fashioned spy mission
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated :)


	9. Chapter 9

The third weekend of October is a wet affair; winter scaring off autumn early, turning the rain into icy daggers, temperatures just shy of a pearly white snow. Despite the weather, the spirits of the group of children making their way toward the sleepy village of Hogsmeade are high, lilting laughter and shrieks of joy wrap around the group nearly as snug as their cloaks. It’s the first weekend they have spent away from the castle this year.

Two boys hang back from the others. One is rubbing his palms nervously on his trousers, the other shooting his companion intense, measuring looks. Despite spending nearly every waking moment together for the past week, the two hadn’t had a chance to talk. There had been too much planning for the operation they were about to undertake, and hastily finishing off essays they had been neglecting in favor of researching ancient charms, and arguing with a third student about why _she_ couldn’t come (the fact that she was not going to be released from the hospital for two weeks did nothing to quiet her arguments).

(“I am the most obvious _choice_!” Morgana hissed at him from the hospital bed. Visiting hours were nearing close which is why Arthur chose that moment to tell her she wouldn’t be going. “I’m the only one that’s actually seen it!”

There was a lot of whisper-shouting happening in the corner of the hospital wing.

Arthur sighed. “Morgana. You aren’t allowed to leave the bed. And we have to act _this_ Saturday, we can’t wait until the next Hogsmeade weekend, it might not be until February!”

Morgana crossed her arms, stare irate enough to set the room ablaze. 

She turned to Merlin on her other side. Merlin had been avoiding looking at Arthur the entire week, which was _annoying_. (Why was it that the first time he actually wanted to talk to Merlin was the only time the idiot was actually quiet?) “And you agree? With my traitorous brother?”

Merlin looked down at his hand and picked at the skin of his thumb. He was doing that a lot recently, he must be really nervous (why did Arthur know so much about _Merlin’s hands?_ ). “Yes?” he squeaked. “But if you get released early, I’d happily trade places.”

Morgana turned her wrathful gaze between the two of them before at last raising her chin high. “ _Fine_. But you both have to recite the plan from memory until I’m sure you won’t fuck it up with your ever present incompetence.”)

The task they are to achieve today is rather daunting.

As far as Arthur can figure, there are approximately sixty-seven problems with the plan their little group has hatched just to get them to the manor in the first place. And even if that part goes _great_ , there’s a whole slew of potential wards waiting for them upon their arrival. (Not to mention his own trepidation about confronting the building that houses so many terrible memories.) With so many potential problems, Arthur _should_ be focusing on that, strategizing and planning and running through back-up plan after back-up plan. But instead he can’t stop thinking about _Merlin_. Merlin who hasn’t looked Arthur in the eye for a week and has carefully ensured the two of them are never alone together and changes the conversation if anything remotely related to magic, Quidditch, or the events of last Saturday are brought up.

Arthur has a lot of questions and he’s sure as hell about to get some answers.

He reaches out a hand to stop Merlin. Merlin’s head shoots up in wide-eyed panic. He swallows.

Arthur licks his lips. He’s been thinking about how to broach the subject for days but he has yet to come up with the eloquent inquiry he was hoping for. “What…happened?”

He doesn’t bother clarifying what he’s referring to, Merlin _knows_.

Arthur’s memory of what happened during the Quidditch match is blurry at best. He knows he fell off his broom, he knows his leg was fractured (though he _should_ have broken every bone in his body), and he knows when he arrived at Madam Pomfrey’s he was completely fine. Merlin did _something_ , to stop the fall, to fix him, to make him feel… _things_ (as though he was flying, as though he was falling headfirst into something he didn’t understand); he just doesn’t know what he _did_.

Merlin looks behind him, whether to run away or make sure they are alone, Arthur’s not sure. When Merlin looks back at him he seems to deflate completely.

“I’m so _sorry_ ,” Merlin says, gripping his hair in his hands. Arthur nearly reels with shock; of all the things he was expecting it wasn’t an _apology_ . “I didn’t mean to -- sometimes my magic -- it just gets a life of its own. And normally I can control it but the older I get, the stronger it seems to _be_ and I guess it just _likes you_ or something and panicked so it _saved_ you and I couldn’t _stop_ it. Not that, I wanted you to get hurt or anything.” He bites his lip. Arthur’s mind is still spinning at the idea that _Merlin_ is so powerful (it would certainly explain how often he used spells without his wand). “Gaius says it’s a rare gift, to be so adept at wandless magic, and I shouldn’t use it _at all_ or tell anyone about it but sometimes I just can’t help it.” He grabs Arthur’s shoulders, hands searing through Arthur’s jacket and sweater despite the near frigid day. He leans in close and Arthur’s chest constricts. “I really didn’t mean to, I would have never done something like that,” he gestures at Arthur’s leg, “without your permission.” He sighs and hangs his head. “You can hate me, I wouldn’t blame you.”

Arthur blinks several times. Hate him? Why on earth would Arthur _hate_ him? “Why did it feel…” he’s not sure how to finish the sentence.

“Like you were…inebriated?” Arthur nods even though that doesn’t fully capture the experience (if he thinks about how it felt for too long he gets a bit overheated). Merlin runs his hands through his hair again. “Search me. Gaius thinks it might be that if you aren’t accustomed to someone’s magic it has a kind of…poisoning effect without the killing part.” He worries his lip as he stares at Arthur.

“Your magic…” Arthur says slowly, not sure what he wants clarified. How is Merlin’s magic so powerful and is it different from everyone else’s? Why doesn’t Gaius want him to tell people about it? What else can he _do_ with magic that strong? (And if he used it on Arthur would it make him feel _like that_ again?) “…likes me?”

His eyes widen as the question hangs in the air between them. That hadn’t been what he meant to ask _at all_. But a warm, pleasant glow had been working its way through Arthur the moment Merlin had said his magic was fond of him.

Fortunately Merlin is too busy burying his face in his hands to notice.

Merlin groans. “That’s what you’re taking away from all that?” He looks at Arthur in a mixture of disbelief and exasperation, a small smile forming right at the corner of his mouth. “You aren’t going to yell at me or write me up for inappropriate use of magic?”

Arthur shrugs and starts walking again as nonchalantly as he can. The warmth is still merrily heating his chest (maybe Merlin’s antagonism is like Arthur’s, just for show -- maybe it’s not just Merlin’s _magic_ that likes him -- maybe he should -- _shut up_ ). Merlin keeps pace at his side. “I might’ve died had your magic not decided to save me.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and hits his shoulder, heat radiating down his arm from the brush of contact. “I doubt that. You’re just a drama queen.”

Arthur smiles. “Maybe but your magic _likes me_.”

Merlin groans and blushes all the way down his neck, so bright against the gray of the world around them. “It must have a terrible judge of character.” Arthur beams brighter, suddenly this entire operation does not seem nearly as daunting. Merlin pushes him. “Gods, is it too late to trade places with Morgana?”

“Nope,” Arthur says happily, dragging Merlin toward Hogsmeade. “You, me, and your magic are going to break about 100 wizard laws and probably a few muggle ones as well.” Arthur feels far too excited about that prospect. He has half a mind to ask Merlin if he’s using magic now, letting it creep its way into Arthur as he’s feeling the same giddy elation that he did last time.

But he’s not sure what he’d do if Merlin said he wasn’t using his magic. There’s a small chance that it's not just Merlin’s _magic_ that has such a powerful effect on Arthur.

\--

Merlin is praying to every god he’s ever heard of that his mother is doing her usual Saturday morning ritual of tea with their neighbor Pomona and her wife. (The fact that their entire plan hangs on his mother following a _schedule_ did not seem to frighten his accomplices as much as it should.) He’s already dealing with a smug Arthur, by and far one of the _worst_ Arthurs to deal with (gods of all the ways he thought Arthur was going to react to news of Merlin’s magic, _pleased_ hadn’t even crossed his mind), he doesn’t need his mother catching them and probably murdering them on top of everything else.

Merlin steels himself as he pushes into The Rising Sun. The dining hall has several people milling about, most huddled close by the fire, seeping in some of the warmth from the otherwise dreary day. Most Hogwarts students tend to frequent the Three Broomsticks rather than his mother’s inn, something for which Merlin has always been grateful (to spare him the embarrassment of her sharing his childhood stories). His eyes sweep the room, taking in the mismatched chairs, the boisterous laughter, Ada the cook glaring at him through the window into the kitchen (which is rather rude seeing as he hasn’t even nicked any food yet). 

Hunith Emrys is nowhere in sight.

“This is where you grew up?” Arthur asks.

Merlin spares him a quick glance. Arthur’s expression is impassive as his eyes take in the room and Merlin wonders what he must be thinking. His house is probably at least three times as large as their entire inn. Merlin clenches his fist ready to defend the building that his mother poured her life into, brought back from ruin, and worked tirelessly to keep up and running with nothing but her own bare hands and determination.

“Yeah,” Merlin grits out, “and what of it?”

Arthur smiles, a small thing, almost a secret as he looks back at Merlin. “It’s brilliant,” he says simply.

Merlin blinks in surprise. “Really?” 

Arthur nods. “I’ve never been somewhere that feels so loved.” Arthur seems embarrassed at his own candor and hastily begins examining the painting of a small farm beside him.

Merlin instantly relaxes, proud that his mother’s love for this building is evident. He smiles back at Arthur and the locusts begin their swarming in his ribcage (they really have the most inconvenient timing). He shakes his head and nods over his shoulder. “Come on, if we don’t stick to Morgana’s time table, she’ll flay us alive.”

Merlin approaches the reception desk, Arthur following close behind, and beams at Alice.

“Merlin!” Alice greets with a wide smile, her soft features turning even softer. The older woman had worked at the inn for as long as Merlin could remember. She was a longtime friend of Gaius, and his mother made plenty of jokes about their relationship to Merlin’s disgust (he’d rather not think of Gaius having any kind of life outside of brewing potions as he’s _a million years old_ ). “Are you looking for your mother? She’s stepped out for tea but I’m sure she’ll be back this afternoon.”

Relief courses through him. At least one part of the plan is running smoothly. 

(There had been a lot of arguing between the Evil Knights of Camelot as to how they would arrive at Avalon Manor. The Floo network was the most obvious approach; the argument was about which Floo grate to take.

“Why can’t we just use Gaius’ office?” Merlin whined. “I’m in there all the time anyway and how hard would it be to get Gaius out of his office for an hour? I’m sure if you caught him as he left the Great Hall and asked him about sleeping draughts he’d talk for _at least_ that long.”

Morgana crossed her arms and glared at him. It was a look she usually reserved for Arthur. Merlin did not love being on the receiving end of it. She glanced toward Madam Pomfrey’s door and the bed next to her to make sure Merlin’s silencing charm was still effective. Clandestine meetings in the hospital wing were less than ideal. “We are going to need more than an hour. And there’s too many risks using a grate in the castle. Professors come and go all the time on the weekend, what if they catch you leaving?” Morgana shook her head. “No, what we need is a private grate, close to the castle, with limited access.” She gave Merlin a pointed look.

Merlin stuck out his lower lip. “If my mum catches us…”

“Then don’t get caught.”)

Merlin puts on his most innocent smile. Alice always had a soft spot for him and if their plan was going to work, they needed someone as lookout. “Actually I was hoping you could do me a favor?” He smiles even sweeter and Alice merely raises her eyebrows in amusement. “If my mum comes back early could you just keep her out of our quarters? Just until lunch time?"

Alice had helped Merlin do plenty of mischievous things as a child and he is hoping that same instinct is still present. Her eyes shift between he and Arthur and they light up in realization. Merlin’s stomach drops out from within him. He’s horribly miscalculated the situation. Before he can even try to correct her she gives an incredibly suggestive wink and Merlin prays for the ground to open up and consume him where he stands.

Alice’s smile is teasing. “You two have fun, just make sure you’re careful!”

Arthur makes a choking noise behind him as the implication of Alice’s words hit him. _But_ they have a lookout. Merlin grabs Arthur’s hands and pulls him through the inn before he can say anything to convince Alice otherwise. He tries desperately to quell his mounting blush.

When they are safely though the kitchens and in the Emrys home, Merlin turns to Arthur who looks caught between horror, embarrassment, and unbridled rage. Merlin quickly says, “the important thing isn’t what she thinks, it’s that she’s willing to cover for us and won’t tell my mum.”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath like he’s going to yell at Merlin so Merlin pointedly taps his watch. Arthur deflates. “Fine, but next time, _I_ get to do the talking. Now, where’s your Floo?”

\--

Merlin steps from the fireplace and his jaw drops. He knew the manor was going to be extravagant, he just wasn’t prepared for _this_.

This isn’t a manor, it’s a bloody _castle_.

The Floo grate is located in their foyer, right beside the entrance, so Merlin gets a full view of what guests see when they visit Avalon Manor. Although in all fairness, foyer is rather insulting, _ballroom_ would be more accurate. The floor is a sparkling white marble that stretches as far back as his eyes can see. The walls themselves tower high, made of a stone worn and weathered and Merlin can practically _feel_ the history radiating off the ancient rocks, the stories of a thousand lifetimes written in the mortar binding the building together. His magic gives a gentle hum as if trying to reach out and read the stories of time, of countless generations of Pendragons wandering through these very halls. 

Through an open double door to his left, he can see what looks to be a living room with couches, a deep crimson rug, bookshelves lining the space, everything dark and rich, but it feels empty and hollow. As if no one actually uses it. He could attribute it to Uther Pendragon’s absence but he would wager it probably feels like this all the time.

His heart suddenly aches at the idea of growing up in this perfection, this stillness, this superficial beauty. His magic surges sharper, trying to escape, as if it alone can fill these hallowed halls and breathe life into this beautiful forgotten mausoleum. With more effort than it should take, Merlin reigns it in.

It’s been getting stronger for years but ever since he unleashed it into the world to save Arthur last weekend, it’s practically always ready to leap from his skin.

The roar of flames erupts behind him and Merlin barely steps away from the hearth before Arthur comes through.

“Did you activate any wards?” Arthur asks.

Oops, that’s what Merlin was supposed to be doing instead of gaping at the place. “No?”

Arthur rolls his eyes and whispers a detection spell. They both hold their breath but no alarms seem triggered. Arthur then presses his wand into the intricate crest adorning the interior of the front door and it gives a low hum. Merlin’s magic vibrates in his veins. It must be a really powerful touchstone if Merlin can feel the magic radiating off it in waves. The touchstone ensures that all the wards guarding the home haven’t been broken and since its happily humming it tells them that it’s doing its job. It’s good news, but they still need to move fast. 

Arthur spares him one scoff and mutters, “useless,” before leading Merlin through his home.

Merlin follows Arthur through the foyer-ballroom, down a long hallway all the way to the back of the house, passing room after room of pristine cleanliness and no character. (Merlin wonders what Arthur’s room looks like, if it’s as cold and vacant as all these rooms or if it’s a small corner of the home that actually has life in it. He doesn’t know how to ask without it being weird so he keeps it to himself.) They peer into each room with their wands raised but they are completely devoid of any life. Merlin is hyper-aware of his scuffed boots on the pristine white marble. When they pass a rather terrifying iron door with an intricate dragon molded into the frame, the hairs on the back of Merlin’s neck stand up and his magic swirls low in his stomach, a warning. Merlin gives Arthur a worried look.

“It’s not a dungeon if that’s what you’re thinking.” The huge heavy bolt that bars the door suggests otherwise. As if reading his thoughts Arthur rolls his eyes and says, “Father just uses it as a wine cellar.”

They pass it and continue on. But Merlin can’t resist asking, “but did it _used_ to be a dungeon?”

Arthur’s lack of answer is more than confirmation enough.

Merlin can’t imagine it, growing up in a place like this. It certainly explained a thing or two about the Pendragon siblings.

They finally reach a stairwell nestled against the back wall that branches toward the second floor from either direction of the hall, toward the prestigious East and West Wings. Arthur veers right and Merlin dutifully follows. The second floor is just as empty and still as the first. Arthur keeps a steady pace and Merlin follows close behind, both of them treading lighting, wands raised. But the house is completely silent.

The hall is lined with countless doors, more doors than a family of three could use surely, and Arthur stops at one seemingly at random. He taps his wand against it, waits for the door to recognize his magic, then pushes it open.

The Minister of Magic’s bedroom is oddly normal, much less intimidating than the rest of the manor. A large four-poster bed sits in the center of the room, with black curtains and a matching duvet. The bed is so neat Merlin is sure he could bounce a sickle off of it. Arthur moves to one side and Merlin the other.

Arthur looks at Merlin with eyes huge, looking so much younger than he is. He sets his jaw and takes a quick breath. And suddenly Merlin can’t stomach the idea that Arthur is the one who has to bear this burden. If it was his mother and the very thing that could save her was located under this bed, being the one to look would drive him mad.

He gives Arthur a small smile. “I got it, Pendragon. You just run another detection spell, you know I’m useless at those.” Arthur’s shoulders relax and he nods accepting the lie they both know it is and makes his way over to the window.

Merlin steels his breath and drops the floor next to the bed.

The space beneath the bed is dark, swirling with shadow, but it is as sparkling clean as the rest of the manor, not a speck of dust in sight. Merlin’s heart drops. It’s not here. Arthur is going to be _devastated_.

As Merlin begins to stand his eyes catch on a dark silhouette near the center of the bed, darker than the shadows that surround it. He pulls out his wand and mutters, “ _lumos_.”

The end of his wand emits a gentle glow, chasing the shadows away yet the dark pool remains. Merlin crawls toward it, touches it with the pad of his finger. It’s wet like ink but viscous and thick like oil. 

Or blood.

“Emrys? Is it there?” Arthur’s voice is far away, difficult to hear over the roaring of his blood in his ears.

Something cool and wet drips onto his cheek.

Merlin freezes, holds his breath and looks up.

A small bundle is wedged into the slats of the bed. It’s a tiny parcel, wrapped in cloth, with thin coils twisting out of the top, the tendrils dark and shriveled, like a withered cornhusk doll. The entire thing is dripping thick greasy drops.

Merlin grins. They found it.

Two loud cracks echo in the distance, one right after the other. Merlin’s face falls.

“Shit, Emrys. We’ve got to go. Someone just apparated outside the fence.” He hears Arthur’s steps race across the room. Their time is up.

Merlin reaches up a hand to grab it, ready to tell Arthur the good news, but the moment his hand closes around it, a sharp searing agony tears him apart.

The room floods with light.

An ear-piercing wail screams in his ears, painful enough to push all thoughts from his mind. His magic surges up, with a swift crackle, stinging his skin, the smell of burning wood filling his nose. He hears Arthur yell his name, then the world whites out.

\--

“Merlin!” Arthur hisses, torn between keeping quiet and screaming in fear. The figures apparated just outside the gate. Avalon Manor was warded against apparation into the home itself, but they would only have five minutes before the newcomers arrived at the door. And they couldn’t get in unless they had the password.

But there’s no telling who Agravaine has shared that information with.

Arthur runs around the bed and pulls on Merlin’s feet, dragging him out from underneath. The sight nearly makes Arthur’s knees buckle.

Merlin is curled on his side, something dark smeared across his cheek, scorch marks coat the floor where it comes into contact with his body, he’s shaking in sharp jerks, gold tendrils crackling over his body with electric zaps, nearly too bright to look at. His face is awash with pain, mouth agape, eyes wide open and showcasing a molten gold.

“Merlin?” His voice shakes. He doesn’t know what to do or what happened, but Merlin is lost to this world and writhing in agony because _he_ didn’t want to look under the bed. He can feel the ticking clock in his mind, panic flooding through him. They need to get out of here, he needs to help Merlin, they need to get the _charm_ \--

His eyes catch on Merlin’s hand, white knuckled in a tight grasp. The _idiot_.

Arthur throws himself across the room, ripping the top drawer of the dresser open. He plucks out one of his father’s handkerchiefs and races back to Merlin’s side. The gold tendrils are expanding now, lashing against the floor. One hits his arm, coils around his wrist, but rather than stinging, he’s filled with a sense of total and complete calm, his skin tingling. He watches as it expands, coats his hand like a glove, and he _knows_ the magic, _Merlin’s magic_ , is going to protect him.

Careful not to touch the parcel, he pries Merlin’s fingers away one by one, magic bouncing between them, electric and crackling. When Merlin’s last finger is free, the bundle hits the ground with a splat, small drops of the black grime coating both him and Merlin. Without touching the charm with his skin, he wraps it in the cloth and ties it off, throwing it in the small pouch he brought with them for good measure.

All at once, the room is snuffed in darkness once more as Merlin’s magic disappears.

Merlin sits up with a gasp, eyes wide and open and blue, breath heaving and Arthur is so relieved he could throw his arms around the fool who touched the dangerous magical object with his _bare hand_ and --

The front door of the manor slams.

It looks like Agravaine has shared the password.

Arthur jumps to his feet and hauls Merlin with him. Merlin stumbles but Arthur doesn’t know if it’s from whatever just happened or his usual clumsiness. He doesn’t have time to figure it out.

They race from the room, Arthur with Merlin’s wrist in a vice grip, not bothering to quiet their footsteps. Whoever was here would have seen the light show that was taking place in his father’s bedroom. The Floo in the entry way is blocked but he knows his father put one in his study after he became Minister, he just hopes it’s still active.

“This way,” Arthur hisses in Merlin’s ear. Merlin doesn’t protest as Arthur pulls him back toward the stairwell, toward the west wing of the estate, toward the people who’ve inevitably entered the manor. Merlin’s complete trust in him is a little dizzying. Though that might be the adrenaline pounding through his veins.

They race through the east wing and back down the stairs. At the landing Arthur spares one look into the hall. Two figures clad in black stand near the door, examining the touchstone.

One of them looks up. “Someone’s here!”

Merlin throws out the arm not in Arthur’s grasp and he watches as Merlin’s eyes flare gold once more, his fingers wrapped around Merlin’s wrist tingling with electric sparks, and fire erupts from nothing, not a single spell uttered, filling the hall between them and their enemies. Someone swears loudly and the sound of incanting drifts above the roar of the flames.

Merlin sways slightly as his eyes fade back to blue and Arthur doesn’t have time to ask him if he’s okay or tell him how absolutely _amazing_ that was so he drags him up the other stairwell. Both of them are breathing ragged, sweating from panic and the inferno behind them, when they finally crest the stairs and race toward the door before them, as thick and sturdy as the door to his father’s bedroom. Arthur presses his wand against the door and can only hold his breath as he waits for the magic to recognize him. Each and every door inside the Avalon Manor is sealed with blood magic and only the magic or blood of a Pendragon can open them. 

He spares a look over his shoulder. Merlin is propped against the wall looking pale and weak but his eyes are focused on the stairs behind them. The voices are drawing nearer. Merlin looks at Arthur and sets his jaw, raises his hand again, and with a loud crackle and sting in the air another wall of flames erupts at the top of the stairwell.

Arthur pushes his wand harder into the door, hard enough that it might very well snap.

But what if his father had changed it and this door will only open for him? What if with his illness the door had sealed itself entirely? What if --

Over the sound of fire and flames, a lock clicks open.

Arthur rips the door open and grabs Merlin’s jacket in his fist, pulling Merlin behind him, just as a man steps through the inferno.

He has close cropped blond hair, a finely manicured beard and mustache, and wizard robes in an iridescent black, reflecting the flames around him. He stops short of the sight of Merlin and Arthur, jaw hanging open, wand too loose in his wrist for an immediate spell.

“The boy’s here!” the man yells.

Arthur rushes into motion, pushing Merlin into the room and slamming the door soundly behind them. The sounds from the hall vanish. The two lean against it for a moment, collecting themselves, desperate for air. The door rattles with the faint sound of an explosion. The door should hold for anything, but Arthur doesn’t want to take any chances.

The office is a near replica of the one Uther has at the Ministry, all dark wood and rich velvets. The only difference is a large portrait above the fireplace, depicting his father and a woman with golden hair and blue eyes, laughing and grinning for all she’s worth. It is the only picture of her that remains in this home.

(When he was young, he would stare at it for hours, desperately wanting to ask her if she regrets her decision, if she wishes she never heard the prophecy surrounding the birth of he and Morgana, if she _forgave him_. He never once had the courage to ask.)

Merlin’s bent double, coughing. Arthur runs across to the fireplace knocking over everything on the mantle searching for Floo powder. His fingers grasp a small metallic box that he can’t pry open for the life of him.

“Here,” Merlin’s voice is faint and raspy. Arthur turns and Merlin is there with a small bag of green powder in his hands. Arthur lets out a loose panicked laugh in relief. Merlin gives a rather hysterical smile. “Morgana made me pack it.”

A sound like a battering ram connects with the door, shaking everything in the room, the portrait on the mantle swings wildly until it hangs crooked, the much younger and happier version of his father grabbing his mother around the waist and hauling her from the scene.

Arthur grabs a handful of powder, “I guess we better go then.”

Arthur steps into the fireplace, pulling Merlin with him, and yells “ _The Rising Sun_ ,” relief nearly making him dizzy as the green fire licks to life and sweeps them through the Floo network until they come crashing out into Merlin’s living room.

They come out of the hearth in a tangle of limbs (there’s a reason you usually only Floo one at a time, it’s a bit of a tight squeeze). They land on the floor with a thud, Merlin flat on his back Arthur sprawled on top of him. Arthur props himself up on his elbows to look down at Merlin. Merlin has black goo streaked across his face, hair wild and untamed, and Arthur knows he’s covered in soot and drenched in sweat and must look like he crossed through hell. 

“Well at least everything went according to your plan,” Merlin says in a croak, blinking up at Arthur. Merlin’s looking at him in utter disbelief. They break into manic laughter and Arthur wants to let his joy propel him forward because Merlin is here and smiling and _alive_ and Arthur’s almost dizzy as Merlin licks his lips and flicks his eyes down --

The sound of a throat clearing has Arthur scrambling off of Merlin. They turn in unison to look at a short woman, arms crossed, eyes colored the same blue as Merlin, who looks angry enough to run them through with a sword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates on Wednesdays.
> 
> Next Chapter features: an angry mother, a very embarrassed son, and unlocking more of the Pendragons' tragic backstory.
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to everyone who has been following along and commenting! It's so lovely to hear your thoughts and I'm glad you are enjoying this story that would quite literally not leave me alone until I wrote it.

Merlin’s mother asked Arthur with a rather terrifying smile if he would mind waiting in the other room while she talked to her son. Arthur had hastily agreed ignoring Merlin’s muttered, “clotpole” (he’s not entirely sure what that means but he imagines it’s not something pleasant) as she dragged him by the ear into the kitchen.

Now he’s in the sitting room, patiently waiting (or as patiently as is possible for Arthur) while Merlin gets chewed out just on the other side of the wall. Hunith’s voice carries clearly from the kitchen to where he is sitting (he isn’t sure it is all that unintentional).

Arthur starts to pace. He’s not good at waiting.

The room is small; light wood paneling coats the walls, a stairwell is tucked away in the back and only a well-worn sofa, an arm chair that looks full enough to burst, a coffee table littered with old magazines, and an ancient rocking chair with a quilt thrown over it decorate the space. The fireplace sits across from the sofa, the mantle is near overflowing with pictures and Arthur makes his way over to study them. There’s one of a small Merlin obnoxiously opening and closing his mouth to show off a tooth he’s lost; one of a scene in a garden, likely behind the inn, a slightly younger Gaius with his hands on his hips as he stares at the young Merlin in the picture absolutely coated head to toe in mud, the flower beds thoroughly destroyed; another of Merlin’s mother in a white lace dress and a man who must be Merlin’s father twirling around a photo, Hunith’s head thrown back in a laugh, the man carefully spinning her so his face never really comes into view.

Arthur swallows back the bitter bile of jealousy. Would his life have been like this if his mother was still alive? Would they have a cozy home full of love with hundreds of pictures of he and Morgana laughing their way through childhood? Or was Uther always going to be the cold callous man he was today?

Hunith’s voice pulls him out of his musings.

“I get back from tea and Alice _winks_ at me and says you have a _boy_ back here!” Arthur nearly trips over the coffee table as he makes his way back to the sofa, his face suddenly very warm (but he’s _not_ blushing).

“Oh my gods, _mum_!” Merlin groans, his voice muffled as though he had his face buried in his hands. “That’s _obviously_ not what happened!”

“ _Yes_ ,” she hisses. Though Arthur can’t see her, he can practically feel the glare she is drilling into Merlin, one likely to give Morgana a run for her money. “I gathered that when you were nowhere to be found and there was Floo powder all over my rug!” Arthur winces as he looks at the green dust coating the rug and makes a note to offer to clean it before he leaves. Hunith sighs. “What were you _thinking_ , using the Floo network without permission? Are you aware that what you just did was highly illegal? I would almost rather you were messing around with a boy!” (Arthur does not blush at this either. His mind also definitely does not conjure any images about the implications of these words and what maybe would have happened if Merlin’s mother hadn’t been waiting for them --)

“Oh my gods, _please_ never say that to me again.”

“Oh well my _sincerest_ apologies. Which phrase would you prefer? Snogging, shagging, sexual intercourse?” Arthur idly wonders if he can make it back through the Floo network to take on Agravaine’s men by himself. He figures he stands a better chance surviving them than ever looking Merlin in the eye again.

Merlin makes a loud noise of distress. “I am _dying_. Please. Stop. And nothing of that sort is remotely happening between me and Arthur _ever_.” (Arthur does not feel any sort of disappointment painful and sharp in his chest at these words because why would he? He doesn’t even _like_ \--) “He just needed to go home to get some stuff.” Merlin’s mother makes a threatening sort of noise. “But I can’t tell you what. It's not my secret to tell.”

He can picture Merlin, jaw gutted out in his usual posture of defiance and warmth radiates through Arthur, pleasant enough to take away the bitter sting of rejection (almost) at the idea that Merlin is willing to defend him.

He hears Hunith sigh. “It was important?”

“Very.”

Then something happens that confuses Arthur more than anything so far. Hunith _laughs_. “You are going to be grounded, _at least_ until you are Gaius’ age.”

If it was his father who had caught them, they would probably both be in Azkaban regardless of the reasons behind the adventure.

He is still confused and highly suspicious when Hunith comes into the room, Merlin trailing behind, looking small. Arthur braces for the worst as Hunith sits next to him on the sofa. Merlin stays in the doorway as if he is ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. Coward.

Hunith clears her throat. “I won’t tell any of your professors but this is _never_ happening again.” She raises an eyebrow.

Arthur nods vigorously. “Of course, ma’am. I’m so sorry to cause you any trouble and I’ll gladly clean up the mess we made and if you feel there is anything else I can do to make amends, please let me know.”

He ignores Merlin’s dramatic eye roll and Merlin’s mother awards him with a smile. “Well at least one of you has manners. Hopefully some of them might rub off on Merlin.”

Arthur hesitantly smiles back. “I think he might be a lost cause, but I will do my best.” Hunith laughs and it is so much like Merlin, eyes crinkling at the corners, her whole body shaking.

Merlin gives an indignant huff from the doorway. “I’m _right_ here!”

“Actually,” Hunith continues as though Merlin hasn’t spoken, “I think I owe you a thank you.”

Arthur furrows his brow. “What ever for?”

Hunith grins. “I’m fairly certain my son would not be doing nearly as well in school if not for your competition.”

This is perhaps the best news Arthur has received his entire life. Arthur grins and looks to Merlin, jaw dropped in betrayal, red coloring the tips of ears. Merlin gestures over his shoulder. “I’m just going to go find that gryphon that lives in the woods? Let it maul me to death, don’t mind me.”

Arthur turns to Hunith. “Has he always been so dramatic?”

Hunith lets out a bright peal of laughter. “I can see why my son is so fond of you.” Merlin crosses his arms and _fumes_. Arthur’s cheeks start to hurt from how wide he’s grinning. Hunith pats his shoulder. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

\--

Gwen is studying Morgana a little too intently for her liking. It feels too much like when Merlin does it, turns his calculating eyes on her to peer into her soul and divine the secrets she has no intention of sharing (she is very thankful that Arthur has monopolized most of Merlin’s attention this year or he would surely be onto her).

Gwen’s been biding her time, waiting.

(Morgana woke up to find Gwen seated in Arthur’s usual spot and sank deeper into the bed, hand grasping at the worn leather of the book hidden beneath her pillow, snuck out of her bag when Freya brought the assignments she had been missing. 

Gwen was a quiet storm, one prepared to weather on in nothing but still patience, wearing the shore down until before you knew it, there wasn’t a trace of it left. 

Morgana was temporarily saved by the entrance of her housemates. Gwen only crossed her arms and made herself more comfortable on the chair.

Will stomped through the infirmary, a lively contrast to the otherwise still room, arms laden and overflowing with candies, leaving a trail of breadcrumb-sweets in his wake, which Mordred and Freya took turns retrieving and pocketing to keep for themselves. He dropped the pile on Morgana’s stomach and she let out an involuntary “ooof” as a chocolate brick hit her in the gut.

“ _Will_ ,” Freya chastised, giving Morgana an apologetic smile as she helped to rearrange the pile of candy.

Will looked around affronted. “You said we should cheer her up! What is more cheerful than enough sugar to rot your teeth out of your skull?”

Mordred looked at Will in exasperation. “What is _wrong_ with you? Why would you phrase it that way?”

Will put his hands on his hips. “Well, how would you say it?”

“Literally any other way,” Freya and Mordred said at the same time. Morgana snorted, grabbed a sugar quill, and made herself comfortable to watch Will’s explosion of a rebuttal.

She carefully avoided looking at Gwen though she could feel her eyes on her.)

The hospital ward is silent now, Will’s complaints having faded entirely as he crossed the threshold of the doorway with the other Slytherins.

Ever so slowly Gwen leans forward, thunder in the distance, warning of the oncoming storm. “Do you remember what I said, about when you need to tell me what’s going on?” Gwen asks, voice even and patient though Morgana can see the tension in the way she’s clenching her jaw and her stiff posture on the hospital chair. 

Morgana swallows and studies the ink stains on the pads of her fingers.

The ink from the _book_.

She knows it’s stupid to read the book from her hospital bed, to read the book _at all_ , to try to summon the magic again after what happened last time but she can’t _help_ it. The magic is so raw and powerful and like nothing else she’s ever felt before. Her Visions are just a _taste_ of the full potential. And she can’t explain how but there _must_ be some connection between this magic and her father and Agravaine and her dreams. She feels it with a certainty that settles clear down to the marrow of her bones.

And she doesn’t have the words to explain that to Gwen. To anyone.

Gwen leans forward, eyes sharp but reassuring. “I believe I said you need to tell me when something _bad_ happens.”

Morgana swallows thickly. “It’s not going to happen again,” she chokes. Gwen’s brows pinch slightly at the utter anguish Morgana can’t keep from her voice.

It’s not going to happen again because all of Morgana’s aptitude for Old Magic has seemingly vanished in the night. 

The night Freya had dropped off her bag, Morgana had torn the book from its hidden pocket and tried to use the spell, the one to make fire, just to prove to herself she still could. It failed. Surely that could be attributed to her weakness from the potion, she reasoned. So she tried again the next night, to fail. Then twice the next morning, right before dawn, before Madam Pomfrey came by to check on her, before Arthur and Merlin would arrive and they would painstakingly go through all the details of the heist, but when she reached out her senses it was as if she was alone in the world.

Seventeen times she has tried and failed. The spell has amounted to only emptiness.

Nothing. Not a thrumming of life, not a cackle of electricity, not a burn of magic.

And she’s trying very hard not to read into what that might mean.

Gwen moves closer, sits on the bed next to her and squeezes her hand. “You know you can tell me what’s wrong.”

No, she really can’t.

The same thing happened when she was young. When her magic first manifested she was moving objects with her mind and exploding teacups when she yelled at her father over dinner all while Arthur pouted that his own magic hadn’t come in yet. 

But then that initial surge of power wore off and she had to claw tooth and nail to get her magic to do _anything_. It was something she didn’t talk about. Merlin knew but only because she had been so _desperate_. She couldn’t tell anyone else. Her father would have likely cast her aside and she was so _scared_ that Arthur would lord it over her. 

(He was always so desperate for Uther’s approval she was terrified of what might happen if he got it, if he would turn out as malicious and awful as the elder Pendragon. It was a disservice to his character to think so, but she couldn’t help the thoughts all the same. It was a fear she still harbored, deep in the blackest part of her heart.)

It wasn’t until she started learning Divination that she relaxed. And she slowly but surely lost all of her father’s respect so she threw herself more into the practice and focused solely on that which would let the man down. If he knew how much she struggled with what he considered _real magic_ , he’d probably disinherit her. She got there eventually, she’s able to cast basic charms and small transfigurations but nothing dramatic.

Not like Arthur who could _accio_ objects to him from clear across the castle. Not like Merlin who would read a spell a few times and then bring it to life hardly uttering a word. Not like Gwen who could transfigure water to wine without breaking a sweat.

She thought that the Old Magic was her chance to be as talented as everyone else with spells and charms and manipulating the world to bend to her will the way a wizard is _supposed_ to (she knows that’s her father talking, but she can’t shut the voice up).

It had been a long time since she was ashamed of how difficult it was for her to call on certain magic, but now that embarrassment was happening _again_.

And she can’t share this weakness with _anyone_ (that’s her father talking again, but old habits die hard).

Morgana blinks against the rapidly forming tears in her eyes. The room goes blurry and out of focus, becoming a smear of too clean white and too old gray. There’s another warm squeeze on her hand.

“Is this about your father?” Gwen asks.

“Yes,” she whispers. It’s not a complete lie. She is worried about Uther in a nebulously-painful-abstract kind of way.

The black piece of her heart is slightly thankful she did not have to venture to her home today. It gets harder to return each summer, the house looms larger each time she visits, and it makes her skin itch and prickle.

Logically she knows it's not actually the manor that makes her feel ill but rather how awful it is to live in it with a man as cruel as Uther Pendragon. She’s not sure why she still cares about him.

Though if she’s honest, that piece of her that cares grows quieter and quieter with each passing year. As she listens to his racist policies; and ignorant views; and his scorn of _lesser_ magic, the very magic that Morgana thrives most wielding; and the way he sets expectations for Arthur impossibly high and when Arthur surpasses them because he’s _Arthur_ and _of course_ he does Uther just raises the bar even higher, so Arthur’s fingertips can skim against the cool metal of his expectations and make him think that maybe one day he’ll be able to take hold; and the fact that when Arthur falls as he tries to reach for that bar, she has to carefully pick up the cracked pieces in Arthur’s armor and help him put them back in place before he tries to jump again; and most painful of all that their father seems to have no expectations for her, as if nothing she could do would ever genuinely impress him because he doesn’t think her worth the effort, tossing her a patronizing smile and empty platitude instead of real praise.

(There was a moment when she had her dream over the summer of her father falling into madness where she woke up and stared at her ceiling while the sun rose, debating. She almost didn’t say anything, almost took the secret to the grave, but it would have _killed_ Arthur, and had he ever found out…he might have killed her as well. She was shaking when she woke her brother and he thought it was the dream but really, it was her own callousness. If she was capable of letting her father die and not saying a word, what else was she capable of? Running him through with a dagger like the girl in her dreams?)

Gwen lets out a heavy sigh, pulling her from her musings. Gods she’s getting so melancholic if she doesn’t leave the hospital soon she might need to start spending time with Moaning Myrtle. “I’m not going to press you, but you have to _swear_ to me you will not do anything else like whatever _this_ was,” she says gesturing to Morgana lying in the bed.

Morgana nods. “Of course.” What’s one more lie?

Gwen leans in close, face more strict and intense, as if she read her mind. “And if I think it’s dangerous or you are in trouble, then I will _force_ you to tell me.”

The thing about being best friends with someone is that you naturally pick up habits from one another. Morgana toughened up some of Gwen’s kind nature and Gwen rounded off her own jagged edges. And Gwen has clearly learned well from Morgana how to make a threat land, a strike of lightning signaling a storm has arrived.

\--

Night fell long ago by the time Arthur and Merlin make their way back to the castle, walking in quiet companionable silence (it feels so natural to have Merlin by his side and he doesn’t have the energy to pretend that’s not the case, nor the words to convey how much he wants Merlin to stay there, always). After Merlin’s mother made them swear not to use her Floo network without permission and they cleaned up the mess they made, she made them dinner and proceeded to answer Arthur’s never ending string of questions about Merlin’s childhood while Merlin begged her to stop.

It was easily one of the best meals of Arthur’s life.

It took Arthur’s mind off the too many questions swimming in his mind. Most pressing of which is who were those men and how on earth had they arrived at the manor so _quickly_? Unless Agravaine was watching the manor but Arthur can’t for the life of him reason out _why_ he would need to do that. (Unless he suspected they would come for the poultice. Or he was worried they were coming for _something else_.)

And they _recognized_ him. They said, “the boy is _here_.” Not “a” boy but “ _the_ ” boy, as if they’ve been searching for him, as if they were _expecting_ him. His skin prickles from a shiver he can’t entirely attribute to the chill of the wind.

The second most pressing concern is practically radiating magic from the pocket of his cloak.

(The argument over who was to carry the hazardous magical artifact was hastily whispered while Merlin’s mother was in the other room.

“It’s dangerous,” Merlin hissed, “I felt it. You don’t want that to happen to you.”

Arthur gave him a look that he hoped conveyed how much of an _idiot_ he thought he was being. “If you think I’m letting you get anywhere near this after the effect it had on you, you are thicker than you look.”

“Quit trying to be noble!”

“Quit trying to be stupid!”

Merlin’s mother had entered the room and raised an eyebrow at the two of them so they fell silent. By virtue of the fact that the charm is currently in Arthur’s possession, he feels like he won the argument.)

Something about the vines coiling out from the top is so _familiar_ to Arthur but he can’t place where he’s seen them before.

Arthur’s third problem is the fact that he’s heard fuck-all from Geoffrey Monmouth about his father’s will. A man who Arthur distinctly remembers commenting about tardiness to a woman who was the bride attending her _own_ wedding. It is horribly out of character for him not to respond. Given how loyal the man is to his father he really doubts Agravaine has recruited him but he’s not willing to rule it out entirely.

Arthur rubs his stiff fingers over his brow to push the thoughts from his brain for the time being.

The night is chilly. Arthur looks over at Merlin’s thin jacket and the way he keeps rubbing his hands together and resists the urge to do something utterly mad like offer him _his_ coat.

(That’s certainly Arthur’s most thought consuming problem, what to do about _Merlin_ or rather what to do with himself when he’s _around_ Merlin.)

Merlin clears his throat. “Sorry about my mum.”

Arthur tilts his head to the side. “I liked her.”

Merlin gives him an eye roll but a small smile is playing at his lips. “Me too. She can just be…embarrassing.”

Arthur shrugs. His own father embarrasses him often enough, just usually by being a bigoted politician and absent father. He doesn’t know how to convey that he’d give anything to have a parent like Merlin’s without coming across as pathetic and selfish.

Merlin clears his throat. “Was that woman in the portrait your mother?”

It’s hard to swallow and Arthur’s not sure if he’ll be able to speak. He gives a sharp nod. He doesn’t talk about her, ever. 

(When he was young, he and Morgana asked thousands of questions about their mother, their father refusing to say a word. It wasn’t until they got their Hogwarts letters that they broke down all of their father’s composure.

It was Morgana who did it in the end, who learned how to twist words like knives just like their father did. When he refused to answer the simple question of what House their mother was in Morgana stood with fire in her eyes. If it had been the previous year, she probably would have shattered the windows with her wild magic but it seemed to have settled down, Arthur’s was finally starting to show up.

“You don’t love her!” Morgana shouted. “It’s the only explanation for why you don’t talk about her! Why you’ve gotten rid of all parts of her except _her children_!”

Uther stood, chair cracking against the floor, his palms slamming on the table making the cutlery rattle. “Do not speak of things which you know nothing about, Morgana.” Arthur had never seen his father so angry.

“I bet you’d get rid of us if you had the chance!”

Uther let out a sharp breath through his nose, fast enough that it whistled slightly in the silence of the room. “How _dare_ you accuse me of that when the only reason either of you sit before me is because your life came at the cost of hers!”

Arthur’s pulse roared over him and Morgana fell back against her seat, eyes wide, hands shaking.

It wasn’t until the month before he left for his second year at Hogwarts that he got the full story out of a very inebriated Geoffrey (at the same wedding where he had insulted the bride) and he learned his father had lied. 

The prophecy didn’t say that Igraine was destined to die at the hand of her daughter, just her son.)

“She was beautiful,” Merlin whispers, biting his lip as if he’s unsure the words are welcome. Arthur swallows again, blinks against the sting in his eyes. Merlin gives his shoulder a gentle nudge with his own. “She looks like you.” Arthur’s heard that phrase at least one thousand times but for some reason having it come from Merlin makes it less painful.

Then his brain registers everything Merlin has said together.

He bites back a smile as he looks over at Merlin. “Did you just call me beautiful?”

Merlin’s eyes go huge and his eyes shift as he replays what he just said. “What?! -- _NO_! -- I didn’t mean -- not that you aren’t -- I’m not -- _ugh_ \--”

Arthur throws his head back and laughs and Merlin hits him on the shoulder, scowling and blushing. It’s becoming one of Arthur’s favorite expressions. Annoyed, embarrassed Merlin. It’s an expression that makes a gentle curl of warmth unfurl deep in the pit of his stomach. Merlin hits him again for good measure. “ _Ugh_ , has anyone ever told you, you’re a huge _arse_.”

Arthur fights a smile. “Actually yes.” Merlin throws him a suspicious look, the beginnings of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “He’s a really annoying Slytherin, prone to incessant prattle, has a penchant for getting in trouble, gangly, about my height. I’m sure you’ve seen him.”

Merlin presses his lips into a tight line but his eyes crinkle at the corners like he’s losing a battle with amusement. The sight makes the warmth in his gut surge sharper, brighter. “I think he might be taller than you,” Merlin says, with a quirked eyebrow.

Arthur feigns shock. “I’m quite sure that’s not true.”

Merlin snorts and it makes Arthur’s own face break into a smile.

They settle into an easy step until Arthur breaks the silence again. “Thank you for coming.”

They are almost to the castle now. The moon peeks out between the clouds and hits Merlin like a spotlight, dousing him in glowing ethereal light. Merlin gives a mischievous grin. Arthur’s breath catches in his throat.

“That’s what friends are for,” Merlin pauses, one eyebrow quirked, challenging, “right?”

Arthur smiles at him in spite of himself. “Sure thing, Emrys.”

Merlin beams even brighter than the moon above them and Arthur thinks that he might be in trouble because if he could guarantee he saw that smile at the end of every day, he’d do just about anything to see it.

\--

The expensive leather shoes click along the once pristine marble floor as the wizard makes his way down the long hall. The walls around him are charred, steam still wafting in small gusts though he knows the fire was doused several hours ago.

To say he was _surprised_ when he received an owl while searching through the magical artifact vaults at the Ministry, from the two men he had hired to _protect_ Avalon Manor at all costs that the very manor in question was in the process of _burning down_ , would be a gross understatement.

Agravaine stops at the end of the hall. The crisp remains of what was once an elegant branched stairwell crumble before him. The heavy iron door to his right adorned with an intricate dragon appears untouched.

He heaves a quick disappointed sigh and looks between the two men in front of him.

“Aredian?” Aredian meets his glare head on, must come with the territory of being a former Auror. Cedric cowers beside him, shaking and mousy, and unintimidating. The way Agravaine prefers him. Agravaine gestures to the room around them his eyes wide and mocking. “Is there anything you would like to explain to me?”

Aredian crosses his arms. “The boy was here. Surprised us.” Agravaine keeps his expression neutral. With narrowed eyes, Aredian takes a step forward. “But you don’t seem surprised.”

“I would not have hired you if I did not believe your presence would be necessary. In fact, I believe I _specifically_ told you to check the manor today.”

Aredian lets out a long breath. “So this was a test.”

Agravaine gives an insincere smile. “For your sake, you should be thankful it wasn’t.” Aredian curls his lip in the beginnings of a snarl. Agravaine clicks his tongue and looks around. “So where is he?”

Aredian and Cedric exchange a long look. Fantastic. His henchmen were now conspiring with one another. Cedric twitches. “I thought you said you don’t need him until you have the sword. And your nephew --”

Agravaine sucks in a sharp breath as panic floods him all at once. It was too soon, he was told he had more time, to get the items, to change _fate_. He didn’t need _Arthur_ ruining that. “He is _no nephew of mine_ ,” Agravaine spits the phrase. “And if I find out you ever let that boy escape _again_ , you will be wishing for a fate worse than death,” he glares between the two of them.

The former Auror tilts his head and has the _audacity_ to chuckle. “You aren’t paying me nearly enough to speak to me like that and you certainly don’t scare me enough to get away with it.”

Agravaine inclines his head. “Perhaps not, but I believe I know someone who does.” Cedric makes a whimpering sound and Aredian visibly blanches. Agravaine raises his eyebrows. “Shall I call for them?”

Aredian works his jaw. “No, sir.” Cedric jerks his head from side to side.

“Do your jobs, guard the house. I don’t want anyone getting in or out without my say so.” He turns on his heel to leave. “And if my _nephew_ returns, get him to open this damn door.” Agravaine pounds the iron with his fist for emphasis, the ringing echoes throughout the manor long after he has vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates on Wednesdays.
> 
> Next Chapter features: suspicious classmates, sentient plants, dangerous advice, and two idiots struggling to lie to themselves.
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated :)


	11. Chapter 11

The hardest part of being in a secret society, Merlin realizes several weeks into joining said secret society, is the keeping it a secret bit.

Merlin and Arthur stand close on their way to Herbology, the chill of the morning making them pull their cloaks tight around themselves. They keep their heads down and voices low in case anyone is eavesdropping

Through trial and error as October bled into November they discovered which classes it was easiest to talk in. It’s not difficult to pass notes in History of Magic with Binns droning on about the use of Blood Magic in the vaults of Gringotts or even Potions when Gaius gets hung up on discussing the significance of Billywig Strings as a stimulant ingredient but Professor Potter had almost instantaneously _accio_ -ed the note off their desk in DADA during his lecture on the difference between Shades and Ghosts with a smirk that seemed to say they would need to be more sneaky to get things past him.

Charms is normally excellent for quiet conversations as the room is loud with the chaos of practicing spells but recently they’ve been learning tracking charms which require near silence for casting. (As annoying as it was that they couldn’t whisper about Agravaine’s evil plans, Merlin was rather fond of the useful little spell and he cast it on Aithusa’s collar making it glimmer as if hit with sunlight. It was much easier to find his cat when all he had to do was whisper a few words and a trail of gold sparks guided him to her hiding place.)

In Transfiguration as they continued their unit on human transformation, the noise of the class turning their hands into talons (some of them accidentally giving themselves beaks causing them to screech in panic, Gwaine went so far as to sprout wings) was not quite enough to drown out their conversation on the likelihood that the charm was full of wolfsbane. Kilgharrah had overheard and said before they moved onto mammal claws they might want to perfect their rather pathetic bird talons.

All of this culminated into one important realization: The best time to talk is when out-of-doors.

“Have you figured out what the charm is?” Arthur asks when they stop in front of the Greenhouses.

Merlin shrugs, it’s not like his answer is going to be all that different from what he told Arthur the previous evening while they were writing essays on unicorns in their evil lair. “Almost.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows. “ _Almost_?”

Merlin hums. “Mmm hmm.”

Merlin looks at Arthur’s skeptical expression and caves ( _ugh_ , great now he can’t even _lie_ to Arthur, this is worse than the fluttering of locusts that erupts anytime Arthur _smiles_ at him or stands too close to him). “It’s going to be _fine_. I’ve narrowed it down to about fifty potential charms.” Before Arthur can give him a lecture he changes the subject. “How’s the Wizard’s Council going?”

Arthur scowls at him. “Not great. It’s about 3000 pages long and full of horrible archaic laws all of which essentially give Agravaine the power of some kind of by-gone king. Morgana is going to spend her free period trying to use the newspaper articles to get a better feel for the direction he might be headed. Although she keeps insisting that something is blocking her ability to read the moods of the interviewees.” 

Morgana had taken the news of their adventure mostly in stride, listening to the whole tale before tossing her hair over her shoulder and declaring, “it would have gone better if I was there.” Neither Merlin nor Arthur had argued though Merlin knew they were both relieved she hadn’t been there. Between the magic of the charm seizing him and setting Arthur’s home on fire, it was not an experience he was keen on repeating.

(The day after the break-in Cedric, Agravaine’s assistant, sent Arthur and Morgana his usual one-sentence “update” about Uther’s condition with a rather accusatory addendum.

_The Minister of Magic, Uther Pendragon, is still admitted to St. Mungo’s and his condition remains stable._

_Additionally, Interim Minister de Bois would like me to inform you that a fire has struck Avalon Manor. The cause of the fire is currently unknown and an investigation is pending but he is confident that the culprit will be swiftly brought to justice. Fortunately, law enforcement quickly arrived on the scene and contained the fire so the manor remains largely intact._

_If you have any additional information about this event, please contact Minister de Bois at your earliest convenience._

_Regards,_

_Cedric Cole_

Merlin was quietly grateful that he hadn’t accidentally burnt the whole place to the ground and as he and Arthur had yet to be arrested, it seemed Agravaine was not acting as _swiftly_ as he claimed.)

“What are you two whispering about?” Gwen asks from beside them.

“Nothing!” Merlin and Arthur say at the same time.

Gwen purses her lips and narrows her eyes and Merlin tries not to look too guilty. Gwen always has a way of seeing right through him. She opens her mouth to speak but is interrupted by Professor Longbottom.

Merlin has a sneaking suspicion that Arthur does not want to invite anyone else to join the club.

(“We are not inviting other people to join our club!” Arthur hissed at Morgana at the end of their meeting last night. “And it’s not a club!”

Morgana glared at him. “Arthur. You are terrible at keeping secrets, Merlin can’t lie for shit --“

“Hey!”

“-- and we have enough work for an entire _Ministry_ to complete.”

Arthur crossed his arms. “I think we’re doing fine.”

Morgana raised an imperious eyebrow. “Really? Because by my count, we have the charm _we think_ is poisoning our father but no clue what it is or how to fix him. Agravaine had people watching the manor and they _saw you_ which means _he knows_ we were there and probably took the charm. You two won’t let me drink the potion again even though it’s the only real lead we have --“

Arthur scoffed. “My sincerest apologies for worrying about your safety.”

“-- _and_ ,” Morgana continued loudly, “we still don’t have any idea why Agravaine wants to be Minister or what he wants to do with the position other than the usual tyrannical horseshit that Uther was doing just amplified.” She stuck her chin up. “The minor advantage we had with my Divination skills is all but gone. My dreams make no sense, I can’t get a reading off of the articles written on Agravaine, and the stars are being more finicky than usual. Not to mention _you_ can’t get a response from Geoffrey and you’ve barely managed to make a dent in the Wizard Council documents and _Merlin_ is no closer to identifying the charm than I am to becoming an animagus.” She narrowed her eyes as she studied her brother. “We could use some help. If nothing else, it would at least speed up how fast we can read all this so we don’t have to stay up all night to finish our actual course-work.” She gestured to the towers of books and newspapers around her.

Arthur worked the muscle in his jaw. Merlin always thought he did it when he was angry and that was probably part of it, but recently Merlin realized he did it when he was weighing his words carefully. Trying to piece together the best argument to get exactly what he wanted. ( _Ugh_ , Merlin needed to stop paying so much attention to _Arthur bloody Pendragon_ ).

After a few moments of silence Arthur said, “this _club_ is against the rules. Anyone who is a part of it could be expelled. Not to mention if Agravaine found out…we saw first hand what he’s willing to do to people who cross him.” He leveled Morgana with a solemn look. “You and I are here because _our_ family caused these problems and Emrys…” he trailed off as he looked at Merlin. The locusts evidently relocated to his brain because everything grew a touch fuzzy. Being studied so closely by Arthur was a little disorienting. Arthur blinked a few times and shook his head. “And Emrys is an idiot who jumps at any opportunity to cause trouble.”

Merlin glared. “You’re welcome, prat.”

Arthur smirked and turned back to Morgana. “If anyone else got in trouble for this or hurt…I couldn’t bear it.”

Merlin’s heart gave a sharp squeeze. Stupid handsome prat with his stupid noble principles and his even stupider personality.)

“Good morning!” Professor Longbottom greets the class with a friendly smile, a cup of tea steaming in his hands, wearing a sweater in a truly awful paisley pattern. “Bit of a change of plans today,” he says, motioning the class to follow.

The Herbology professor leads them into Greenhouse Number 3 and Merlin tries not to wince. He much prefers the lower numbered Greenhouses as the plants were less likely to be sentient and poisonous. Merlin’s jaw drops in astonishment at the sight before him.

Freya lets out a distressed cry. “What on earth _happened_?”

The Greenhouse is absolutely destroyed. Pots are overturned with soil coating every surface and plants writhing away on the floor searching for their homes. Clay pieces of shattered jars and watering jugs decorate the floor and the windows have rather lewd drawings in what appears to be bubotuber pus if the sizzling and melting glass is anything to go by.

The class turns to their professor who just takes a long sip of his tea, shaking his head. “I _know_ , the mandrakes are growing faster than I anticipated. I usually isolate them during their rebellious teenage years.” He squats down beside what appears to be a pile of withered vines. He clicks his tongue. “It looks like they even played with the shears. That will slow their growth which means we’ve got a few more weeks of this.” He gestures to the room around them.

Will cautiously raises a hand. “You want us to _clean_ all of this, sir?” Merlin presses his lips together so he doesn’t smirk. Will hadn’t even tried to conceal his disgust at the idea.

Longbottom laughs. “Goodness, no. This will take days. Just try to wrangle all the plants back into their pots so none of them escape. My Herbology club members will sort the rest.” He winks at Freya and Mordred and the two of them stand taller. “We’ve also got to go check on the other Greenhouses and make sure there weren’t any break-ins, these mandrakes are particularly mischievous this year.” He splits the class into groups and Merlin, Arthur, Will and Gwen are among those tragically assigned to the cleanup crew of Greenhouse 3.

Gwen gives Merlin a piercing look and he quickly moves to partner with Will for cleanup, ignoring Arthur’s muttered, “coward.” Arthur’s the one who doesn’t want to tell Gwen about the club, _he_ should be the one who has to fend off her questions.

“Never thought I’d miss the Venomous Tentacula,” Will grumbles, grabbing a stack of spare pots.

Merlin rolls his eyes and hits his shoulder, helping himself to a broom. “Fairly certain you’d be complaining even if all we did was stare at the plants. Why did you even sign up for this?”

Will groans squatting down by the withered mandrake vines. “Search me. Mordred made it sound like it was going to be really easy. Should’ve known he was just taking the piss out of me, the git.” Will picks up a handful of the straw-like detritus and scrunches his face up in distaste. “You reckon we’re supposed to sweep these up separate? Aren’t mandrake roots used in loads of charms and stuff?” Merlin crouches down and his heart stops as he recognizes where he’s seen the roots before. 

A faint shrill scream echoes in his mind.

Merlin looks at Will in astonishment. “Will, you’re a genius.” He looks up to find Arthur but he and Gwen are clear on the other side of the glass structure, earmuffs on, putting very hung-over Mandrakes back into their pots (Merlin assumes they are hung-over given the fact that instead of screaming they are moaning loudly). They need to get to Gaius. If they can tell Gaius what’s _in_ the charm, then he will definitely know what it is. Merlin starts shoveling Mandrake roots into the pockets of his robes.

Will tilts his head to the side as he watches Merlin. “Why are you taking the mandrake roots?”

Merlin looks up with his eyes wide. “I’m not,” he says as he grabs another handful.

Will looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “Are you feeling alright? Do you think one of these plants released some kind of toxin --“

Will cuts off suddenly when a plant hiding beneath the table bares its fangs, startling Will and Merlin and knocking them off their feet.

Will swings his pot wildly and Merlin jabs at it with the broom. “Bloody,” Will grunts, “fucking,” whack, “Venomous,” it hisses, Merlin and Will roll out of the way to dodge the spit, “Tentacula!” Will jumps on it, trapping it in the pot, and sits on it to keep the plant contained.

Merlin smirks. “It must have heard that you missed it.”

Will glares. “Fuck you. Next year I’m taking Muggle Studies.”

\--

“Gwen?” Gwen blinks up at the small Slytherin girl nervously standing next to her library table. Gwen’s eyes are heavy from spending the past few hours reading. Why on earth did she want to be a Healer again? Freya wrings her hands nervously and looks between her and Lance. “Could I speak to you for a minute?”

“Of course.” She sits up more alert, and slides her books closer to her making room. She didn’t know Freya terribly well and had a bad feeling about what it meant that the girl had sought her out. There were only two people they really had in common.

Lance clears his throat. “Do you want me to leave?”

Freya shakes her head. “No -- well I mean -- you can if you want but -- it might concern you too.”

“Freya, what’s wrong?” Gwen asks.

Freya bites her lip. “It’s about Morgana…”

Gwen’s heart sinks. “Did something happen?” She never should have given Morgana space. She was too patient and passive waiting for people to seek her out, trusting they will find her when they need her. And she should have known that Merlin couldn’t very well help mitigate Morgana seeing as he’s being _just as suspicious_ as she is and won’t talk to her about it either.

“No,” Freya says quickly. “Not like last time. It’s -- Morgana made me _promise_ not to tell but I’m just… _worried_. She isn’t acting like herself at all.” She looks at Lance. “And I think it has something to do with Merlin and Arthur.”

Lance and Gwen share a long look. This is a conversation they’ve had countless times this year. Debating what to do about their three suddenly capricious friends. Gwen gives a nod and Lance looks at Freya and puts a hand over hers reassuringly. “Tell us what’s going on.”

Freya bites her lip, her eyes darting between them and the rest of the room to ensure Madam Pince isn’t about to pounce on them. “Last night Morgana had another nightmare and she set her bed curtains on fire _in her sleep_ .” Gwen feels her eyes widen. “She didn’t even _wake up_. Her nightmares were never like this even back in first year. And this is the second time it’s happened this week --“

“This has happened before?” Gwen asks, suddenly furious with Morgana for keeping this from her. It took a lot to work Gwen up to real anger but Morgana Pendragon had succeeded a fair few times.

“She made me _promise_ ,” Freya whispers. “She’s done so much for me and always been so kind and I didn’t want to betray her trust. She said I couldn’t tell anyone, not even _Merlin_.”

Gwen takes a breath. She doesn’t want Freya to think she’s angry with her. “How long has this been going on?”

Freya scrunches up her face. “A few weeks? I reckon it started after she was in the hospital. I think last night is the fifth fire; most of the time she just wakes up screaming and puts out the flames herself. Sophia moved in with the fourth-years.”

Gwen blinks several times. “She set her bed on fire five times?”

“No, wait. Six.”

Gwen nods. “I’ll talk to her.” She might very well _kill_ her but she would talk to her while she did it.

Gwen starts throwing things in her bag to go track down her best friend when Freya speaks again. “Something is going on with Merlin too. He came back from the Hogsmeade visit with burnt clothes and he was being really secretive about where he was. He didn’t even want to come visit Morgana with us. And you _know_ how much he cares about school but I haven’t seen him around the library hardly at all. And Will said he was nicking things from Herbology. It’s just…not like him. You two are closer to him so I just thought you should know.”

Lance nods. “We’ll figure it out.”

Freya sighs. “Let me know if I can do anything to help.”

Gwen turns her fierce stare on Lance after Freya leaves. “ _I told you_!” she hisses. “I told you they were up to something odd. And I don’t care what _Gwaine_ has to say about it, if they were snogging it would be way more obvious!”

Lance sighs. “Well what are we going to do? We’ve both tried to talk to all of them and it hasn’t really gotten us anywhere.”

Gwen crosses her arms. “Then we’re going to need to get _creative_.”

\--

Professor Gaius raises his eyes from the messy, leaking parcel on his desk, glasses slipping down his nose. He heaves a sigh and looks between the two boys stood before him. “Merlin, how ever did this come into your possession?” 

Merlin widens his eyes. “I found it.” Arthur suppresses the urge to hit the _idiot_.

Gaius raises his eyebrow. Arthur tries to stand tall in the face of it but it's more difficult than it should be. It’s his fault anyway, he should have helped Merlin come up with a prepared lie since he knew Merlin was an _awful liar_ but Merlin had distracted him with _chatter_.

(They sat down the hall from the Potions classroom, waiting for Gaius to dismiss the first-years. They had relocated after a foul smelling green gas began seeping beneath the door and several cries of alarm sounded within the room.

Merlin was across from him, both of them had their legs stretched in front of them, not quite touching.

“If you could have any job in the world, what would it be?”

Merlin has an aversion to silence. Arthur has never met anyone who could talk as much as Merlin did.

“You know I want to be an Auror.” His tone wasn’t as annoyed as it should be, it was something softer, _fonder_. Gods, when did Merlin’s prattle go from being the bane of his existence to something he _enjoyed_. ( _You know when_ , hissed the infuriating voice in his head. He ignored it and shoved it back into the cage he kept it in.)

Merlin rolled his eyes and kicked his foot against Arthur’s. “I know that _you prat_ .” Merlin didn’t move his foot away and for some reason this was Very Important to Arthur at the moment. “I meant your _dream job_ where you could do anything at all, no limits.”

Arthur’s thoughts were coming slower as all his attention was on the searing heat of Merlin’s ankle against his. Merlin might have some sort of medical condition as his body was nearly always scorching when it brushed against Arthur. “Oh, er, Minister of Magic.”

“Arthur!” Merlin laughed. And gods, why did he have to say his _name_ like that and say it so _often_? Arthur’s heart gave a painful squeeze. “You are missing the point! You already _plan_ on becoming Minister one day.”

Arthur studied Merlin, the beginnings of a smile playing at his lips. “How do you know I want to be Minister?” He had never told anyone, not his friends, or his father, or even Morgana.

Merlin flushed slightly and then Arthur really did smile. He really enjoyed flustered Merlin. Merlin gestured vaguely at his body. “Your _everything_.” If Merlin noticed that _Arthur_ was now blushing, he didn’t comment on it. “You’re taking all the classes to be an Auror but also History of Magic so you want to know about policy. And Morgana said you took those nerd classes about Wizard Laws over the summer.” Arthur gave a half-hearted glower and Merlin smirked. “I bet you have a thirty-year plan all mapped out. Auror and then Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and then youngest Minister in Wizarding History.”

The world was tilting slightly on its axis at the idea that Merlin knew all of that about him. Stuff he had never told anyone, barely allowed himself to think about. He was struck by a sudden and desperate urge to know Merlin just as well, just as entirely inside and out, better than anyone else knows him.

Arthur swallowed and cleared his throat. “Well then you go first, what’s your fantasy job?”

Merlin grinned wide. “I want to run a Dragon Sanctuary.”

Arthur laughed. “I think there’s real people that do that, you know. So it isn’t that absurd.”

Merlin shrugged, smile fading. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Arthur felt oddly bereft without the ankle pressed against him. “My mum would never let me.”

“Why?”

Arthur didn’t expect an answer, but he wanted one. For as much as Merlin loved to talk, he was always very careful about the topics, flitting between discussions fast as a hummingbird dances between flowers, never giving too much of himself away.

(It was why Arthur was so honored Merlin told him about his magic, though Merlin had carefully avoided any mention of the topic since. A secret shared just between the two of them, a piece of Merlin for Arthur to protect.)

“My da,” Merlin said, after a few minutes. “He was a Dragon Keeper, that’s how he died. I’ve always wanted to learn more about his job and his life but my mum hardly talks about him. Too painful.” Merlin smiled, something secret and private and wistful. “I’ve never even seen a real dragon.”

Arthur swallowed. There was a reason he wasn’t anyone’s choice of confidant, he’s not good at this. At feelings and comforting people and saying the right thing. (But for _Merlin_ , maybe he could figure it out. Maybe he could share his own secrets of a life without a mother and a prophecy that damned him from the start and a father in nothing but his title.)

He was spared answering by a flock of first-years flying past, racing from the potions classroom as fast as their legs would carry them.)

Gaius blinks several times. 

“You _found_ it?” Gaius leans in closer, adjusting his glasses to examine the parcel.

“I wouldn’t -- er, touch it,” Merlin warns.

The eyebrow goes up higher. “You _touched_ it?” Merlin offers a beguiling smile and shrugs. Arthur barely suppresses his wince. Gaius looks between the two of them and clicks his tongue.

“That bit at the top,” Merlin gestures toward the withered plants. “We think it’s mandrake root.” When Merlin had excitedly showed him the withered roots after Herbology he could have hit himself for being so stupid. He should have recognized them right away. He had spent almost his entire month in detention with Longbottom cleaning them up. 

Gaius’ eyes widen and he once again leans close to the parcel adjusting his glasses. “Are you quite sure?” 

From within his robes, Merlin pulls out a handful of the withered roots that decorated the greenhouse that morning and sprinkles them on the desk. “I recognized them in Herbology.”

Gaius spares one glare at the mess coating his desk moves and then moves to his shelf, picking up a book with yellowed pages and a faded cover. He stops on a page with a picture of someone with their hands on their face and their mouth agape, black liquid seeping from their eyes. Arthur watches Merlin’s fingers trace the page with something close to reverence. For just a moment, he swears his eyes flash gold just like he does when he uses his wandless magic.

Arthur looks at Gaius expectantly. “Do you know what it is, sir?”

Gaius nods. “It’s a very Dark Charm, _ancient_. I have no idea how it came to be in your possession,” he gives them both a withering stare, “but you are very fortunate that you were not hurt.”

“What does it do?” Merlin asks, leaning close to the book.

Gaius points toward the page. “It triggers hallucinations. But in order to cast the spell you would have to use --“ Gaius cuts himself off, right in the middle of his sentence.

Merlin leans even closer. “Use what?”

Gaius studies him for several long moments before finally saying, “very Old Magic.”

Arthur feels his blood rush into his ears and he and Merlin look at each other with huge eyes. He’s spent enough time with Morgana over the years to know better than to believe in coincidences. The fact that this Old forgotten Magic is suddenly making a resurgence means _something_. And _Agravaine_ must have plans for it.

Gaius is looking between the two of them. Arthur carefully schools his expression into something more neutral. Merlin clears his throat. “Gaius…do you still have friends at St. Mungo’s? And can they keep a secret?”

Gaius stands still as a statue for several incredibly long minutes before he lets out a sigh that seems to deflate him entirely. “I know I am going to regret asking but why do you want to know?”

Merlin gives a sheepish grin. “We may or may not know what the Minister of Magic has been afflicted with and it may or may not be sitting on your desk.”

\--

“What do you see, Morgana?”

Professor Nimueh’s voice is far away, _years_ away. Morgana’s eyes flicker behind her lids as she tries to grasp the Vision. 

The private lessons over the past few weeks aren’t excelling her talent with Old Magic as rapidly as she would like. The only dream she’s had is the same one she had the night she took the potion. It plays over and over and over: Agravaine walking the halls of St. Mungo’s and placing the charm under her father’s bed. The Vision is intercut with flashes of witch burnings and dragons and Arthur in a crown and Merlin screaming in a field and herself before an altar and one thousand other brief flashes of images that she can’t string together to make _any sense_.

Not to mention that her other skills seem to be slipping just as much as her grasp on harnessing Old Magic. In addition to her shoddy dreams when she looks at star charts she gets a migraine, she can’t get a reading off a personal effect to save her life, tea leaves seem to blur when she tries to divine the dregs, and crystal balls are only showing her misty fog.

(Some of this can probably be attributed to the lack of sleep she’s gotten ever since she was cleared from the hospital but with each slip up, she grows more panicked and more unable to accomplish anything.)

“A flash of silver,” she tells her professor, adjusting herself on the cushion to get more comfortable. It isn’t clear, not like when she’s asleep. She sees what might be a necklace passed between palms in a forest then the image changes to show it nestled within the folds of a black tunic.

“Is that all you see?” Nimueh’s voice is gentle, coaxing, guiding her through the Vision just as she did when Morgana was a second-year.

“There’s…a sword.” These images are faster, sharper but just as fleeting: a prince wielding the sword in battle, the sword knocking over a chalice, a dragon breathing fire and bringing it to life, the metal glittering at the bottom of a lake forgotten to time.

“Where is it?” The voice is melodic, enchanting, pushing her to See more. Only now, it isn’t quite working.

The Vision disappears fast as smoke and no matter how much Morgana pushes out her senses, she only sees the dark behind her eyelids. She opens her eyes with a frustrated huff. “I haven’t the faintest,” she grouses, hitting the cushion with her palm to relieve some of her frustration.

Nimueh gives her a kind smile. “You’ll get there, it takes time.” Nimueh moves around the classroom to start preparing for the next lesson.

Morgana would get there faster if she could use the _potion_ but both her brother and Merlin have threatened her with everything from hexes to telling Will who really enchanted his shampoo to turn him bald back in third year (the latter argument was Merlin’s and it was significantly more compelling, although Will wasn’t even bald for _that_ long).

“Professor?” She asks. Nimueh doesn’t look up from the telescope she’s adjusting but hums. Morgana takes this to mean she can speak. “Are there any prophecies about Old Magic?”

Talking to Nimueh is a bit like talking to genie. You needed to be careful about what you asked or you wouldn’t get the answer you sought. It was as annoying as it was fascinating.

Morgana’s previous attempts to ask about Old Magic had resulted in more of the same _no one knows, lost with the Great Merlin_ , _maybe it’s back with you_ , horseshit.

Nimueh doesn’t look at her but her hands have stopped on the dials. She’s interested. “Have you seen something?”

Morgana presses her lips together. “No different from usual,” Nimueh’s hands resume motion, “it’s just -- you sound so confident when you say the magic might be back with me. I was just wondering if there was a reason why?”

After a few moments Nimueh turns from the telescope and looks at Morgana closely. Her eyes are assessing and she suddenly looks so _old_ , older than time itself maybe. Morgana blinks and that image is gone and before her is the young, seemingly ageless woman she knows as her professor. “It is as I always tell you, Morgana. Time is a circle. Everything will make its way back around to the start eventually. Old Magic thrived once before and it will again in the future.” She gives her a smile. “And whether or not you believe it, the magic _is_ manifesting in you.”

Morgana wishes she could believe her but it was as if the Old Magic had left her entirely.

(Countless late nights had been spent with her bed curtains drawn the book open in her lap, the words of the mysterious M calling to her through time.

_Relax and spread out your senses._

_Pay attention to your breathing, the rhythm of your life and let it echo the rhythm of the world._

_The magic can not be controlled so do not try, let the magic roll through you, a tidal wave you work with and not against._

_Breathe._

The harder she pushed the further magic seemed from her grasp. She would grow frustrated and push only to be left with a hollow emptiness. She wished M had left her a step-by-step guide.

The only real change taking place was that her dreams now also caused her to light things on fire but she had no idea if that was her using Old Magic or just her wand magic.)

A crow perched in the corner of the room starts cawing. “Goodness, time passed quickly.” How the _crow_ knows that, Morgana isn’t sure. Nimueh pats her hand. “I think that’s enough for today. I’ve got another student coming in and I need to do some preparations. Work on your meditations to clear your mind. Next week we’ll try again.” 

Morgana quietly fumes as she makes her way down the hall. Agravaine hadn’t done anything since his proclamation, but there were too many unknown variables. What was Agravaine up to and did he know that they had found the poultice under their father’s bed, and who were those men at their manor, and how had they arrived right when Arthur and Merlin had? If she could just _See_ it, if she could just use _Old Magic_ , if someone could just _show her_ , it would make everything easier. But no one in this goddamn building was _alive_ back when --

She stops at the end of the hall and turns to look at the knight flailing around in his portrait, fighting an imaginary beast. She has been seeing an awful lot of Sir Cadogan this year. Often Nimueh would be out of the office when they were supposed to meet and the knight would pass along the verbal message. Morgana has tried a few times to leave another note, like Kilgharrah showed her at the beginning of the year by storing it in the painting, but the spell wouldn’t work for her and the painting remained impenetrable.

“Sir Cadogan!”

“The Lady Morgana!” The knight bows. “Well met! What can I help you with?”

(Sir Cadogan is certainly not her first choice of people-she-would-like-to-interrogate from the days of Camelot but the _Great Warlock Merlin_ is never in his bloody portrait, shows how _great_ he really is.)

Morgana licks her lips, not sure if her question will be taken in offense. “How much do you remember about Old Magic?”

Sir Cadogan lets out a large breath. “Not much, I’m afraid I wasn’t able to properly wield it, wand magic was more my forte. The Great Kilgharrah asked me the same question not two days past.”

Why would Kilgharrah be asking Sir Cadogan about Old Magic? Kilgharrah looks old enough to have been around back when it was in its prime (Morgana is self-aware enough to realize that a lot of her distaste for the man stems from her lack of transfiguration skills). “Professor Kilgharrah?”

“Indeed. I imagine the two of you might be on rather similar journeys. Hiya!” Sir Cadogan sharply cuts his sword in an upward arc making the fat gray horse behind him whinny. “Can I be so bold as to predict your next line of inquiry?”

He’s looking rather pleased at his own skills of deduction. Morgana gives him a smirk and a challenge she knows he won’t be able to resist. “You can certainly try.” 

Sir Cadogan looks over his shoulder and motions her closer to the painting, Morgana complies. Sir Cadogan holds up a hand to block whoever may be looking into this portrait from reading his lips. “The centaurs See _everything_ , from the dawn of creation to its demise and can harness every branch of magic.” He gives her a conspiratorial wink.

A smile breaks across Morgana’s face. “You are truly the wisest in all of Camelot, sir Knight.” Sir Cadogan sticks out his chest proudly. Morgana turns and races down the hall.

“Good day, Lady Morgana! And best of luck on your next quest!”

\--

“Emrys?”

Merlin’s head snaps up and cracks against the window he’s propped against across from the painting _Camelot_ , not a figure stirring in the frame. “I wasn’t sleeping!”

Arthur gives him a look that is significantly less disdainful than usual. Perhaps Arthur is just as exhausted as he is. 

(What no one ever tells you about being in a secret society working to save the world is that you are still responsible for your _homework_. He’s been tempted more than once to ask Gwen to brew him her special Wide-Eye Potion (a recipe she refuses to share no matter how much Merlin begs because she insists he will “abuse” it) that has helped them both pull countless all-night study sessions but he assumes asking for it will lead to questions he can’t answer.)

Arthur jerks his head up toward the stairs. “Is Morgana up there?” They are supposed to be having a midnight meeting. They hadn’t had a chance to tell Morgana about the Old Magic’s use in the charm yet. It was too risky. All they could tell her was a quick word that they informed St. Mungo’s about her father’s affliction and the hospital was starting the discreet treatment immediately.

Merlin shakes his head and pats the seat next to him, just as he did all those weeks ago. Arthur rolls his eyes but takes his place by his side. If Merlin had known how entirely his life would revolve around Arthur Pendragon would he have still done it, offered Arthur a seat and fallen into a never-ending conspiracy? He doesn’t know.

(Except he _does_ know but the answer is completely terrifying.)

Merlin’s magic gives a quick surge through his veins at Arthur’s proximity. It’s getting a bit ridiculous, these _reactions_ to the stupid prat. They should have stopped by now. He is more accustomed to Arthur’s presence than ever before and yet the locusts have seemed to make a permanent home in his ribcage and buzz excitedly when he and Arthur make extended eye contact.

(Sometimes he thinks Arthur might feel it too.

Like that time when Arthur was brooding in the rain and Merlin found him and he looked at Merlin like --

Or when Merlin snapped out of the charm’s enchantment on the Minister of Magic’s bedroom floor and Arthur grabbed his shoulders --

Or when they tumbled out of the fireplace and Arthur was pressed against him, leaning down to --

But it was probably his imagination.)

Merlin pulls his knees up to his chest and looks out at the expanse of the dark forest. The locusts aren’t currently swarming but he knows if he stares at Arthur for too long they will come out in droves.

“It’s not like her to be late,” Arthur says.

Merlin shrugs. “She had a meeting with Nimueh, right? Maybe it went really well and ran long.”

Arthur leans against the window and rolls his head over to hit Merlin with a dubious look. “Maybe it went really poorly and she’s setting things on fire in the dungeons.”

Merlin presses his lips together. “Think you’re confusing your sister with a different Pendragon.”

Arthur looks like he’s fighting a smile. “You’re right, my father does have quite the temper.”

Merlin bites back a smile and returns his gaze to the wood. There’s a humming in his veins letting him know the locusts are free. Dangerous. Arthur Pendragon is dangerous to his health.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Merlin swallows but doesn’t look at Arthur. The insects have clogged his throat. “Yes,” he whispers. He has no idea what Arthur might ask though there are several hundred questions flipping through his mind too fast to focus on one. (What if he knows about his thrumming pulse and rapid heartbeat and the way his eyes seek out Arthur no matter who he’s with and how despite spending every waking moment with the _bastard_ he somehow _misses_ him when he’s gone and he _hates_ it but even worse is that he doesn’t hate it _at all_?)

From his peripheral he can see Arthur has also turned his gaze to the wood.

“Why --“ Arthur starts and stops which is somehow _worse_ than if he had asked one of the several thousand questions Merlin is terrified he might ask. “Why --“ Arthur sits up straighter and presses his palms against the glass. “Did you see that?”

Merlin feels a bit like he stepped off a cliff only to realize the drop was merely one step down. “What?”

“There!” Arthur points.

Merlin squints his eyes toward the forest and sees an emerald green cloak running from shadow to shadow heading toward the forest. Merlin pushes his nose into the glass and squints harder. The figure is out of shadows and they seem to steel themselves as they take off in a dead sprint toward the wood. As they cross the open field, the moon peeks out from behind a cloud and hits the person in a spotlight, their hood falls down and reveals very familiar long cascading hair.

Merlin and Arthur look at one another in horror. “Morgana!”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates on Wednesdays.
> 
> Next Chapter features: A Merlin rendition of the musical Into the Woods.
> 
> Comments and kudos always appreciated ;)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early Update?? What??
> 
> I want to change the day I update this story to Friday so rather than giving you a chapter two days late, this week there shall be two chapters! 
> 
> Next Chapter will be out on Friday :)

The Gryffindor Common Room is nearly silent (or as silent as it can be with Gwaine in it). The only other person in the room save Leon’s dorm mates is a third-year who has fallen asleep drooling on their open book. Leon shoulders his way through the portrait hole (whoever designed this entrance had clearly not taken into account that anyone other than tiny first-years would use it). He makes his way to the overstuffed armchairs where his roommates are seated.

Well, most of his roommates.

Gwaine and Elyan are tossing Bertie Botts Every-Flavour Beans at one another and throwing themselves in various directions to catch them in their mouths. Lance is sitting in the center of the line of fire evidently ignoring the beans that are sailing over his head as he chews on the end of his quill, editing an essay.

Leon walks up behind Elyan and deftly catches one. “Oi! That’s mine.”

Leon shrugs and throws himself down in a chair, heaving a heavy sigh.

“I think we need to do something about Arthur.”

“Well, well, well,” Gwaine says. “Look who has finally come around! Mr. Mind-Your-Business has seen the light at last!” Gwaine rubs his palms together. “Now, I know my broom cupboard idea didn’t pan out the way we thought, but if we brew a love potion…”

“Not _that_ you idiot,” Leon throws the bean at him for good measure. Gwaine catches it between his front teeth and grins. Leon rolls his eyes.

Lance sets his quill down and gives Leon a grave look. “What happened?”

Elyan scoots forward. “How do you know something happened?”

Lance sighs. “Because it’s _Arthur_.”

Elyan motions to Leon. “Well go on then, tell us.”

\--

“We should tell a teacher!” Merlin hisses, Arthur is already taking the stairs two at a time and doesn’t bother turning around. The moment they realized Morgana had walked into the forest alone after dark Arthur had been on the move. Merlin is slowly running out of arguments to convince Arthur not to go. “We don’t even have cloaks, it’s November!”

Arthur stops abruptly at the end of the corridor and waits until two seventh-year Slytherins pass shooting daggers at both of them. 

(Cenred and Valiant were not the friendliest people on the best of days and Merlin’s pretty sure Arthur wrote them up for being out of after curfew earlier this year and they haven’t quite let go of their grudge. Arthur has since stopped writing people up almost entirely because he feels too guilty about his own misdeeds. Merlin has to talk him down from his guilt several times a week.)

Arthur turns to Merlin with a fierce glare. “My _sister_ just waltzed into the most dangerous place on these grounds and you’re worried it might be a little _chilly_?”

Merlin crosses his arms and glares right back. “It’s stupid to go in.”

Arthur shakes his head. “You’ve done plenty of dangerous feats before why are you suddenly getting cold feet now?”

“Because I’m not brave, you prat!” Merlin hisses. “I’m _calculating_. If I’m not certain a situation is going to have an advantageous outcome, I change the variables!” Merlin gestures down the hall past the library where Arthur is inevitably headed to take the side stairs out of the caste. “This situation? Disaster.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “For somehow who hates math you make an awful lot of math analogies.” Arthur starts walking again.

“Arthur! _Please_ ,” Merlin’s eyes are wide and frantic, begging.

Arthur looks back once. “You get a teacher, _I’m_ going after Morgana.” Arthur struts down the hall.

Merlin groans and pulls his hair between his hands giving a sharp tug. Arthur is going to get himself _killed_. The only thing stupider than going into the Forbidden Forest was going in _alone_. He races after Arthur. “Aren’t you scared of anything,” he hisses when he catches up, “or does being a Gryffindor replace all of your intelligence with courageousness?”

Arthur shakes his head. “You have a fundamental misunderstanding of bravery, Emrys.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?”

Arthur stops and levels him with a look. “Courage isn’t about doing things you _aren’t_ scared of. It’s about being afraid and doing them anyway.” He takes off again. Merlin blinks at the unexpectedly profound statement and runs to catch up again.

“Arthur!”

They turn the corner and barrel straight into another Gryffindor.

Leon gives them a grin. “Arthur!” He looks over at Merlin. “And Merlin, of course.” Merlin doesn’t have time to ponder what that particular sentiment might mean. “What are you two up to?”

“Nothing,” they say at the same time, in a totally-definitely-not-suspicious way.

Leon tilts his head to the side. “Then why are you heading to the library right when it closes?”

Arthur blows out a breath. “We were…” he looks at Merlin who is imperceptivity shaking his head to indicate under _no_ circumstances should he have Merlin come up with the excuse. “Tell him, Emrys.”

Merlin glares and flares his nostrils. “Er -- I was -- we were --“ his eyes flash to the painting of a man in rather puffy sleeves cradling a lute to his chest as he snores. “I was just going to teach him some poetry.” Merlin winces and closes his eyes. Who knew he didn’t even have to go to the Forbidden Forest to die tonight? It was going to happen right here, in this hallway, in front of a portrait of a bard. Morgana was right, he is a shit liar.

He cracks one eye open to see Arthur staring at him with his mouth open and Leon whose eyebrows have been completely hidden by his curling locks. “Poetry?” Leon asks in a rather high-pitched voice.

Arthur shakes his head as if at a loss for words. “I just…” he glares at Merlin who glares back. It’s _Arthur’s_ fault they’re in this mess. “I guess I just...really...love...poetry.”

Leon blinks a few times. “Well, then I suppose I’ll leave you to it.”

They nod and the moment Leon rounds the corner Arthur swings an arm to hit his shoulder. Merlin pushes him back.

“That was awful!” Arthur whisper-shouts, hitting him again. “He’s going to think we’re shagging!”

“It was your fault! You should have come up with something!” Merlin hisses back. “ _And you should be so lucky_ ,” he adds with a snarl.

The two glare for a minute before Arthur deflates slightly. “So you’re coming with me?”

“Well someone has to make sure you don’t get yourself _killed_.”

\--

“I knew it!” Gwaine crows, jumping up to stand on his chair. “I knew they were shagging!” Gwaine leaps off the chair and rustles through his bag.

Leon glares at him. “Quit making so much noise! You’ll wake up the whole castle at the rate you’re going. And we _just_ established that’s not what we’re talking about.”

Gwaine pulls the dreaded omnioculars from his bag in a flourish of triumph. “Look!” He holds them up to his eyes and thumbs through the footage. “I’ve caught _hundreds_ of loaded glances between the two of them and they keep sneaking off to a forgotten wing of the castle!”

Lance crosses his arms and turns back to stare at Gwaine. “You kept spying on them?”

Gwaine momentarily removes the device from his face. “Elyan helped.”

Leon and Lance snap their gaze to Elyan. He holds up his hands in defense. “I wasn’t in it to catch them doing anything…nefarious. I was just worried about Arthur, same as you lot.” Gwaine has now taken the omnioculars to look out the window. Elyan turns back to Leon. “So what do you reckon they’re up to?”

Leon shakes his head. “Search me. But knowing it’s the two of them together? I imagine it’s something horribly stupid and dangerous.”

Gwaine hums from his place at the window. “Something like running into the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night?”

Lance and Elyan jump up to look out the window and Leon buries his head in his hands. “Yes, something exactly like that.”

\--

The thick canopy above them blocks out the faint glow from the ever-dimming moon, the night sky darkening with thick billowing clouds. The forest is entirely silent save for the quiet, steady breathing of the two boys picking their way through the midnight wood and the crunch and crackle of frozen leaves beneath their feet. The November night is cold, a chill has worked its way deep into each of their bones and their breath comes in huge gusts of steam. Only the gentle glow at the end of their wands guide their way.

A screech echoes in the distance.

“I really hate this,” Merlin whispers behind him.

Arthur hums. “So you’ve mentioned several hundred times.” Arthur hadn’t really expected Merlin to come with him. But the deeper they descend into the terribly ominous wood, the more grateful he is he came.

The trees around them loom impossibly tall and coat the entire world in nothing but shadows. Several times Arthur has seen what he thought was a creature only to throw the light of his wand on a fallen tree. 

“This is so _stupid_ , how are we even going to _find her_? We should have just gotten a teacher.”

“Then Morgana would probably be expelled.” Arthur turns back to glare at Merlin. “And we’re going to track her.” Arthur gestures to the broken twigs they’ve been following.

“ _Of course_ , just like the creatures in here are probably tracking _us_ right now. Why didn’t I think of that?” Several twigs snap behind them. They both turn, wands brandished, and hold their breath for several long moments. Nothing emerges.

Arthur leans in closer. “Well maybe if you would be _quiet_ , that wouldn’t be as much of a problem.”

Merlin narrows his eyes but keeps his mouth shut. Arthur turns back around and keeps following the tracks. He’s not sure the path of broken twigs and disturbed leaves belongs to Morgana but they entered the wood around the same place she did and right now, it’s the best lead he’s got. And she couldn’t have gotten that far on her own, could she? He’s almost grateful for the horrendous hours his father made him spend hunting mythical beasts in the woods around their estate. (Though his refusal to kill anything had certainly brought forth his father’s ire.)

He can’t figure out why Morgana would come in here in the first place. She was too much like Merlin, too calculating, weighing pros and cons for hours in deliberation before making any sort of decision. (Also had she asked, he would have gladly accompanied her.)

The bushes before them rustle loudly.

Merlin takes in a sharp breath and grabs a fistful of Arthur’s robes. Arthur steps in front of him and raises his wand.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispers close to his ear. He shivers and hopes Merlin attributes it to the cold. “There’s a gryphon that lives here. I’ve _seen_ it.”

Arthur doesn’t answer, keeps his eyes trained on the vegetation before him. In all honesty, a gryphon would be a welcome relief to some of the creatures that dwell in this forest but he assumes that’s not going to make Merlin feel any better.

Several twigs snap and Merlin steps to his side, their shoulders pressed together, wand raised same as Arthur. Arthur can feel him trembling.

“You run back,” Arthur whispers out of the side of his mouth, “I will handle it.”

Merlin hisses, “Arthur, _no_!” just as a creature jumps through the overgrowth.

A startling white beast bursts into the path before them, radiating light so bright Arthur has to shield his eyes. It begins munching happily on the grass dusting the ground, the long hair of its tail swishing merrily, its horn pointing toward the earth.

Arthur lowers his wand and looks at Merlin whose eyes are larger than he’s ever seen them. “Gods above,” Merlin whispers.

The unicorn looks up at Merlin’s voice and they both tense. Unicorns aren’t known to be violent creatures but he’s sure they attack if they’re provoked or scared and they are notoriously distrusting of men. The unicorn whinnies, white steam pouring from its nostrils in the freezing air, then tosses its head toward the forest behind them.

Arthur and Merlin share an astonished look.

“I think it wants us to follow it,” Merlin says, already moving forward.

“So as long as the unicorn is giving us direction you’re keen to explore the forest?”

Merlin flashes him a rude gesture and the two continue their trek through the wood. They follow it for several hundred paces until it stops with a huff and throws its head forward again.

Arthur raises his eyebrow. “Still willing to trust it even if it’s not guiding us?”

Merlin grimaces. “We’ve come this far, yeah?”

They keep going, ducking branches and traversing fallen logs. They must be approaching the very center of the forest at this point, likely outside of Hogwarts grounds, the trees are fat and towering, their branches gnarled and twisting, blocking all light looking more like a sea of thorns. 

Merlin moves closer and closer to Arthur’s side the farther they get from the majestic creature. “I take it back,” Merlin whispers as they pass a rather large decaying skeleton of some sort of winged creature.

“Shh,” Arthur says, putting his hand up. His eyes widen and Merlin’s jaw drops.

Just on the other side of the trees they stand in front of are voices.

\--

Mordred looks like he might be sick. “They did _what_?!”

Leon gives him an apologetic smile. “We didn’t know who else to go to.” He looks between the hyperventilating Slytherin prefect and the much calmer Hufflepuff prefect, Percival. “We figured the professors and other prefects would probably expel them.”

Mordred sits down in the middle of the hall where they found him patrolling and puts his head in his hands. Gwaine flashes Leon a thumbs-up over Mordred’s head and gives an impressed nod. Leon rolls his eyes. Truthfully, Mordred and Percival were the first people the four Gryffindors came across.

“What are we going _to do_?” Mordred moans looking up at them.

“We’re going to go after them, right?" Percival asks. "Strength in numbers and all that.”

Elyan hits his shoulder. “Good man.”

Mordred looks at his fellow prefect in exasperation. “Then _we’ll_ get expelled.” He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. He steps up to the window, paces back and forth a few times, and then returns to the glass staring out into the forest. “Alright just let me -- okay -- alright --“ He looks between all the boys standing before him. “You’re all willing to get kicked out of school to cover for them?”

They all nod. Gwaine adds a very terrifying, “I’d die for them.”

Mordred groans. “Well hopefully it won’t come to that. Two of you go with Percival and get Hagrid, he’s the least likely to tell the Headmistress and also the one who knows the forest best.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “And the other two?”

A large burst of light explodes deep within the woods. They all share alarmed looks. Mordred looks like he might be sick again. “We’re going into that fucking forest.”

\--

Merlin’s eyes are trained on Arthur’s. Shining even in the black of the night. 

“You _promised me_ ,” the voice is soft and distant but still much too close. There are likely just a few trees separating them. “My position would be secure if I put the charm under his bed.”

Agravaine.

Arthur breathes an angry huff and moves a few steps forward, twigs snapping loud and angry, wand white-knuckled in his hand emitting small red sparks. Merlin grabs his arm and squeezes as hard as he can. _No_ , he enunciates the word making no sound, _too dangerous_.

There’s a second voice. Arthur’s head snaps in the direction it came from. “That’s why you called this meeting? To file a complaint for my services?” The voice is odd, haunting; deep and somber.

“Well, I won’t be able to do _anything_ if I’m not Minister.”

Merlin swallows thickly. What the hell was Agravaine doing so close to Hogwarts? And who is that creepy person he’s with? And where on gods green earth is _Morgana_?

There’s a noise that might be a chuckle but it more closely resembles nails on a chalkboard. Merlin suppresses a shiver. “And from the whisperings I’ve heard through the grapevine, your search is proving rather futile.” Their voice changes as they speak, going from the low rumbling of a voice as old as time to the high-pitched whine of a young child.

A huff from Agravaine and Merlin can practically see him shaking himself out, standing taller, throwing his shoulders back in a haughty expression. “Your advice --”

The voice hums in something that might be amusement if you were terribly unfamiliar with that sensation. “You can not hold me responsible for your decision not to heed my warnings.”

Agravaine barks a laugh. “Oh yes! Your _warnings_. Cryptic dates and ominous reminders and your _Vision_ that I’ll find what I seek at the bottom of the lake of Avalon. Well we’ve all but _drained_ the lake and there’s _nothing_. Perhaps you are no longer as pivotal as you once were.” 

The rant is punctuated by several long moments of silence. Merlin and Arthur stand still as statues. And then a roar of laughter rumbling like thunder. “How myopic your vision, Agravaine,” the name is spat like a curse on the other’s tongue. “All you see is your little game of politics and how to sit high atop your tower and laugh at the people below.” The other person sighs. “What you fail to realize is there are countless others with your very same goals.” They click their tongue. “It would be all too easy for someone to push you off such a pedestal.”

“Is that a threat?” There’s a tremor in Agravaine’s voice and this more than anything makes Merlin’s spine tingle in fear.

A full bodied laugh, shaking the forest for several leagues in either direction. “Obviously. Fortunately for you that is more work than I am in the mood to complete at the moment.”

“But, Uther --“

Arthur’s muscle tighten and Merlin pulls him closer. He gives him his most intense stare he can manage. Arthur glares back, the muscle in his jaw twitching, his eyes wet. Merlin changes tactics and softens his expression, gives Arthur’s arm what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze (he’s not going to let the bastard go, he’s too headstrong for his own good. And if he charges into the clearing, Merlin’s going to have to _follow_ him.) _Please_ , he begs.

Arthur’s nostrils flare but his muscles unclench. Small victories.

“Worry not, Agravaine. Part of the bargain we struck was that you would be Minister when the day is over. As far as I am concerned, the sun will not be setting until I have everything I want.” The voice has turned soft and melodious.

“But, the boy has the charm.” Arthur visibly swallows and Merlin’s already fast heartbeat picks up double time. He might be having a heart attack. “It’s a matter of time before St. Mungo’s begins administering a cure.”

“Yes, it does appear that the young Pendragons possess a modicum more sense than their elder relatives.” Given the absolute absurdity of the situation, Merlin nearly wants to laugh at the insult. “Just give him this.”

Agravaine begins to ask what it is but the noise is drowned out by a sudden surge of magic that sweeps over Merlin. His body seizes and he sees nothing but a blinding gold light. He nearly cries out in pain as his magic sizzles to life beneath his skin and a voice old as time whispers in his ear, words too soft for him to understand. The world whites out and he feels like he’s been hit by lightning. If he weren’t already clinging to Arthur, he would have collapsed.

Arthur’s hands are on his face when Merlin steadies his breathing enough to open his eyes.

_What happened?_ Arthur asks.

Merlin shakes his head, trying to tell him that he doesn’t know but they need to be so quiet or else --

“Were you followed,” that voice, the one that shifts faster than the wind.

“Of course not,” Agravaine scoffs.

There is a hiss. “Well, it appears as though we have company.” 

Merlin’s heart stops. He and Arthur look at each other with huge eyes.

The other wizard gives a high-piercing whistle met with a distant screech. “We shall see how they fare against my pets.”

There are two pops loud as canon fire and then only the unmistakeable beating sound of rapidly approaching wings. 

\--

“You should not be here.”

Morgana nearly jumps out of her skin. She turns to face the voice.

A huge Centaur stands before her, bow clutched in its hands. Morgana takes a steadying breath.

A small part of her, almost inconsequential in the grand scheme of her existence, regrets doing this. But she _needs_ some fucking answers.

She bows. She’s not sure if that’s the appropriate protocol as she can’t quite remember what they learned about Centaur societies but she assumes its best to be overly deferential and polite.

“I am sorry to intrude,” she says. “I was hoping to speak with you.”

The Centaur approaches and taps her shoulder indicating she stand. “I know. But that is not what I said. So let me repeat it, you should not be here.”

Morgana raises her chin and studies the being before her. Her hair is near white and cascades nearly to the ground in tight spiraling curls. The bow is still in her hand but it isn’t notched which Morgana takes as a good sign.

Morgana swallows. “I know. But I didn’t know how else to reach you.”

The Centaur hums. “And what makes you think I will answer your inquiries. For thousands of years humans have sought out our wisdom only for my kind to be slaughtered and relegated to the edges of society.” The Centaur takes an intimidating step forward. “How are you any different from your ancestors, Morgana Pendragon?”

“What’s your name?” She’s not sure what compels her to ask the question but she thinks it a bit rude that she can’t properly address her companion.

There are several moments of complete and total silence. “Calliope.”

Morgana takes a deep breath, the ice of the night burning her lungs. “Calliope,” she offers and Calliope inclines her head once, “I cannot speak for all of my kind but I assure you that I mean no disrespect. I don’t want to force you to show me the secrets of your wisdom, I only have some questions about the past. If I have offended you in any way then I’ll leave.”

Silence descends once more. Morgana is hyper-aware of the sting in her throat from breathing such frigid air and the rigidity of her fingers as she opens and closes her hand. Despite all that, she might be sweating through her cloak.

“You are wise Morgana Pendragon, but you must remain true to your heart.” The Centaur turns their gaze to the sky. “You are here to ask about Old Magic and prophecies and your destiny.” Morgana nods though it does not seem like an answer is expected of her.

“Your assumptions are correct. Old Magic could not have left this word seeing as it _is_ the world.” The Centaur stomps her hoof and Morgana feels the power rush under her skin, electric and far stronger than anything she could ever summon. Then it is gone and she’s empty once more. “But it is trapped.”

“Why?”

Calliope gives a small smile. “For the safety of us all. There were those who sought to hoard it, covet it, keep it only for themselves. So it was put somewhere safe until it was time for it to be re-released to this world.”

Morgana takes in an unsteady breath. “And that time is now?”

Calliope hums. “Yes, but it is not how you think.” She returns her gaze to the sky and Morgana resists her urge to ask what she means. 

“ _When the Circle of Time makes its rotation the Once and Future King, the Daughter of Pluto, and Magic Itself will descend into the den of dragons and attempt to sever the forgotten magic from its shackles…But the price of freedom will be paid thrice...in the loss of magic...in the loss of trust...and in loss of life…Only if the binding is at last completed will the magic be free…and an age of peace and prosperity may reign for all magic and non-magic alike._ ”

A golden glow consumes Morgana’s vision and the power crackles once more beneath her skin, strong enough to knock her to her knees. She feels as if the prophecy has been branded onto her soul.

Calliope turns to her and smiles. “It is after midnight.”

Morgana tries not to look too baffled as she staggers back to her feet. “Alright?”

“You should make a wish.”

Morgana blinks in confusion. She really wishes she could figure out what the bloody hell the Centaur had just told her because it seemed Important but it was shrouded in more mystery than Morgana could decipher at the moment.

Calliope laughs and Morgana wonders if she really can read minds. “Now come, we must go.”

Morgana knows better than to argue and follows the being, thinking on what she’s said. What on earth was she going to do next?

“Next,” Calliope says intruding on Morgana’s thoughts, “you will want to start paying attention to your dreams. But come, we truly must hurry.”

“Why?” Morgana says, trying to keep up with the much longer strides of the other creature.

Calliope looks down at her. “The forest is about to burn.”

\--

They’re sprinting fast as their legs will carry them, tearing through the forest loud as thunder. Branches snap and cut Merlin’s face and neck but he doesn’t stop running. The air is cold and sharp and stings his throat as he gasps for air.

A deafening shriek screams just behind them.

They hurdle a fallen long and stumble into a small clearing. Another scream roars in front of them, halting them in their tracks.

They stop, panting, stand back-to-back wands before them. The forest goes unnaturally quiet. The world so still and dark they can barely see.

“What are they?” Arthur asks.

Merlin’s eyes rove over the dark wood before them. “Wyverns.”

Arthur gives a quiet, hysterical laugh. “I thought wyverns were _gone_.”

The beast in question explodes into the clearing, knocking a tree down in the process.

“Care to explain that to them!” Merlin yells.

The creature is about the size of an overly large polar bear, its skin a scaly and cracked yellow, its eyes completely black. Its long snout is open, teeth bared, shrieking loud enough to nearly knock Merlin off his feet.

“ _Protego_!” he shouts, throwing his wand forward, sending a wave of magic toward the creature. It stops abruptly as it hits his shield and screams louder, razor sharp claws scratching at the invisible surface.

There’s an explosion behind him as Arthur sends a spell at the other creature. A whistling fills the air as another tree is uprooted and begins its long journey to the earth.

“Get down!” Arthur yells. He grabs a handful of Merlin’s robes and pushes him to the ground, rolling them into a small dip in the earth beneath the previously felled tree. There’s a soft crack as Merlin’s arm hits the earth and Merlin knows his watch is shattered (if he lives through this, his mother is going to kill him). Jagged claws scratch into their covering and they scoot along the forest floor as far as they can until their backs are against another tree trunk, the claws missing them by millimeters.

“What do we know about wyverns?” Arthur asks.

“Other than the fact that they don’t exist?” Merlin gives a distraught laugh. “They’ve got two legs, wings, and can’t breathe fire.”

Arthur shakes his head and scoots his leg further back. “Small miracles.”

The yellow scaly arm ceases its movement at the sound of their voices.

Merlin allows himself a brief moment of hope. “Maybe it will get bored,” Merlin whispers.

The arm disappears. A moment later the long snout materializes. The wyvern opens its mouth wide and screams, covering both of them in spittle and the smell of rotting flesh. It bites down several times but can’t quite reach them.

Merlin and Arthur point their wands in unison and yell “ _depulso_!”

A burst of white explodes from both of their wands and the wyvern flies backward. They hear a loud crunch as it collides with something.

And then silence.

They breathe heavily for a minute and listen for any noise of the creature stirring. After several moments of quiet, they both crawl out of their hovel to peek at the forest. The beast has felled several trees and there’s quite the clearing before them. The yellow wyvern is twitching but it's not immediately getting to its feet.

“Let’s move,” Arthur says and crawls out into the open before Merlin can grab him again and accost him for being so bloody impulsive.

The second wyvern, this one green, reappears screaming into the clearing. It roars with all its might, Arthur throws a spell but it doesn’t stop its progress, its claws flash and Arthur is flung across the clearing, landing heavily against a tree.

“Arthur!” Merlin’s blood is ice in his veins as he throws himself across the clearing beside Arthur. He raises his wand and hurls another banishing charm, a white wave of magic sending the wyvern deep into the forest, claws scraping the earth as its dragged away. Arthur’s eyes are shut and Merlin can’t breathe as he presses two fingers against Arthur’s neck. The faint thrumming of the other boy’s pulse nearly makes Merlin cry in relief.

A log splinters in front of him. He looks up in panic and sees both beasts slowly approaching, jaws snapping like wolves, steam billowing from their nostrils.

Merlin’s wandless magic swells to the surface in a crack. The air around him begins to simmer and spark and all the hair on his arms stands up straight. His muscles tense in anticipation. The wyverns stop, heads tilting, sensing the change in the atmosphere. 

It is the feeling of the earth as it anticipates a strike of lightning.

It is a feeling of raw _power_.

He throws a hand out, fingers splayed wide, feels his eyes flash and roars, “ ** _stay back_**!” The wyverns scream over the sound of Merlin’s voice and the world around him ignites.

And then there is nothing but gold and fire.

\--

“ _Morgana_?!”

Morgana stumbles from the wood straight into Hagrid and an assortment of sixth-year boys.

She shakes her head at the unexpected sight before her. “Are you all looking for me?”

In the distance, there is the sound of screeching, growing fainter. Hagrid looks down at Elyan. “I thought you said we was lookin’ fer Merlin an’ Arthur?”

Morgana’s heart stops. “Merlin and Arthur are in the forest?”

Gwaine (who Morgana has never cared for, he’s the only person that doesn’t actually seem scared of her) narrows his eyes at her. “I bet they were looking for you.”

Guilt gnaws at her but she doesn’t want to give Gwaine the satisfaction that he got to her.

“We found them!” Mordred’s voice comes through the forest and then there’s Arthur and Merlin with Lance and Leon, all of them looking rather singed and sweaty given the freezing temperature. Arthur shoots Morgana an absolutely murderous look.

When he walks by her he hisses, “we’ll talk later.”

Yes, she thinks as she looks at their singed robes, the beginnings of a black eye that Arthur has, and Merlin’s pale and waxy complexion, we absolutely fucking will.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Updates on FRIDAYS.
> 
> Next Chapter Features: Potions, prophecies, the infiltration of a not-so-secret society, and a lit match to get the metaphorical slow-burn burning
> 
> Comments and kudos always appreciated :)


	13. Chapter 13

Potions is rather tense the following Monday morning.

Hagrid, thankfully, was a true saint, and did not turn them into the Headmistress though they all received a rather long lecture in his hut, cramped with so many people. Particularly Morgana whose lie of, “I was just doing some star reading and got lost,” convinced absolutely _no one_.

Merlin went back to his dorm to face an interrogation from Mordred and Will. He imagined Arthur probably received a similar treatment.

(“Why was Morgana in the forest?” Mordred asked as they got ready for bed.

Merlin shrugged and scrunched up his nose. Though he had bathed, he wasn’t sure he was ever going to get the stench of the wyvern’s rancid breath off of him. He held the shattered remains of his watch before him and sighed. “Ask Morgana.”

Mordred, Lance, and Leon had stumbled into the clearing as Merlin was shaking Arthur awake. They quickly put out the fire that Merlin had created (he was hoping that wasn’t becoming an automatic response of his wandless magic as that would get _really_ annoying).

Will crossed his arms and sent him a measuring look from his bed. Mordred had his hands on his hips and even Aithusa was looking rather judgmental from her perch on his pillows. At least Gilli was already snoring so he didn’t join in.

Will pursed his lips. “I know you think you’re clever but we aren’t stupid. We know you’ve been up to something and evidently it’s dangerous enough to burn down the forest.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “You and I almost burnt it down when you visited this past summer.”

Will sat up and somehow managed to cross his arms even more, nostrils flared, and Merlin wouldn’t have been surprised if steam started pouring out of his ears. 

Mordred took a step forward and cut Will off. “You can’t change the subject. Not about this.”

Merlin glared and told them the same thing he told his mother. “It’s not my secret to tell.” They didn’t know or understand. They hadn’t heard what he heard in that forest. They hadn’t been at Arthur’s house when Agravaine’s men had attacked. They had no idea what was at stake. “If I wanted a lecture, I would have gone to Gaius,” Merlin snapped and threw himself on his bed. Aithusa gave a hiss of annoyance and left him.

“We’re going to figure it out, Merlin,” Will warned. “And I swear to gods if it’s as dangerous as it seems I’m going to kill you myself.”)

So Mordred and Will keep glaring at Merlin, all of Arthur’s roommates are glaring at Arthur, Arthur keeps shooting angry looks back at Morgana in the back of the class, and Gwen is sharing her panicked expression between the three of them.

Gaius steps into the room, takes one look around, and declares, “you know, I think we might adjust the schedule and brew the Elixir to Induce Euphoria today. You all look like you could stand for a bit of cheering up.”

With a lazy flick of his wand, Gaius switches out the instructions on the front board and the class sets to work. Without discussing it, Merlin begins carefully peeling the shrivelfig leaves while Arthur counts out the porcupine quills and castor beans. Sometimes Merlin finds it a little eerie how effortlessly he and Arthur work together.

(Sometimes eerie isn’t the right word to describe it.)

Arthur is _suspiciously_ calm. The two of them hadn’t had a chance to talk since the night in the woods and Merlin had arrived at class ready to face the angsty creature he dealt with the first few weeks of term but Arthur seems almost… _normal_ (an adjective Merlin’s not sure he’s ever attributed to anyone with the surname Pendragon).

“Are you alright?” he whispers, dropping a sprig a peppermint into the cauldron, watching the potion turn a vibrant red. The shrivelfig leaves are dropped in one by one.

Arthur shakes his head. “There’s too much.”

Merlin furrows his brow and squints at the directions. “No, I’m fairly certain we add the leaves until it goes turquoise or at least cyan.”

Arthur gives him an annoyed glare and looks much more like himself. “Not the potion, you _idiot_. I’m sure you could brew this _blindfolded_.” The compliment makes Merlin warm (but not nearly as warm as the way Arthur says “idiot” like he means something else entirely). “I _meant_ , there’s too much we don’t know. And I can’t _fit_ it all together.” He grunts looking frustrated. “So I’ve decided to stop worrying about it until we can talk to Morgana.”

Merlin gives him a little grin. “That’s very out of character; you’re certain you’re feeling well? You didn’t eat any expired chocolate frogs again did you?”

Arthur shoots him a glare. “Well seeing as _you_ were the one who gave me those frogs, I think it’s safe to assume I haven’t.” Arthur shrugs. “And you certainly manage to turn off all rational thought often enough I figured it couldn’t be too terribly difficult.” He shoots Merlin a smirk and Merlin gives a half-hearted eye roll. “Plus,” he nods over his shoulder to where Gwaine and Percival are looking at their neon green potion with great trepidation, “Gwaine said if I wasn’t going to tell him what’s going on, I’m not permitted to think ‘so loud he can’t sleep.’ He threatened me with Veritaserum.”

“Fairly certain he couldn’t brew that,” Merlin says as Gaius approaches Gwaine’s potion with mounting horror. Gaius looks between the two boys and mouths, _green_?

“That’s what I’m afraid of, he’d likely give me something that’d kill me.”

A high piercing whistle sounds from Gwaine’s cauldron and the whole class ducks for cover (a drill they’ve run many times). Arthur grabs Merlin roughly by the back of his robes and pushes him down, covering his body with his own. Before Merlin can protest that he’s not some damsel in distress, there’s a loud BANG behind them and the room is coated in a sticky goo.

Merlin idly wonders what Gwaine put in his potion that’s making Merlin’s gut swoop low and his back catch fire where Arthur’s chest is pressing him into the floor. But the thought loses traction as he gets a whiff of Arthur’s spicy, citrus soap and his head swims as Arthur’s breath gusts over his ear and all his thoughts grow a touch fuzzy and unfocused. 

It isn’t until later that he realizes none of the potion actually hit him at all.

\--

Morgana knocks twice before letting herself into the office. “Professor Gaius?”

It’s always amazing to her the vast differences in decor styles between her professors. Gaius’ office is messy; vials on every surface, books open and stacked around the room, and there’s three separate cauldrons brewing. He could probably open up an Apothecary Shop right here in this office and not need to adjust anything.

The only indication that Gaius is surprised by her presence is the slight upturn of his eyebrow. She’s always liked Gaius, his steady patience in class is one of the reasons she’s kept it on her schedule (and it certainly doesn’t hurt that potions are far easier for her to brew than charms are for her to cast). 

And she’s reached a point of desperation.

“Miss Pendragon, is there something you needed?”

Morgana gives a wan smile, knowing full well how pale she looks and how dark the circles under her eyes must be. “I’m having trouble sleeping, sir.”

That is a bit of an understatement. A more accurate comment would be: I have developed an obsession with a book as Old as Time and my inability to access the magic in said book is driving me to the brink of _madness_ all while my normal magic is _just as difficult_ for me to grasp and I’m hoping that can be attributed to sleep deprivation and not my inherent magical aptitude and when I _do_ manage to fall asleep I am plagued with Visions I can’t decipher (images of a necklace, and a sword, and a crown, and myself, and Merlin, and Arthur), all of which I know _must_ deal with a prophecy I heard from a Centaur in the middle of the night that I haven’t yet solved because I am too exhausted to string my thoughts together into coherence _and_ on top of _all of this_ when I do manage to actually fall asleep I tend to light things on _fire_ and I’m worried my Housemates are on the brink of evicting me.

But that might be too much information for the man at 7:00 in the morning, just before lessons begin.

Gaius furrows his brows. “Does this have something to do with your Visions?”

Morgana nods.

Gaius stands from the potion he’s brewing, evidently ignoring the boiling splatters from within the cauldron, and studies her intently. “May I ask what the problem seems to be?”

This is the trickiest part, deciding how honest to be (it’s a problem she has when talking to everyone; remembering who knows what and what secrets she’s keeping, it’s _exhausting_ ). “My Visions...they’ve changed. I’m not sure if Professor Nimueh mentioned anything?”

Gaius’ face is still carefully blank though once again, his tell is that eyebrow. “No,” he admits after a rather pregnant pause, “she has not.”

“Well, she thinks I’ve been seeing the past.” She watches Gaius for any reaction but he doesn’t give anything away. “And I’m practicing with her to access the Visions through meditation but I can’t control them at night.” She gives a weak shrug. “I don’t know if I’ve gotten a full night's sleep since the summer,” she says honestly.

“And Professor Nimueh sent you here?” His face is blank but there’s a slight pitch to his voice as if he’s surprised.

“Nooo,” Morgana says slowly. She hadn’t expected she would have to explain herself so thoroughly. The last time she came to Gaius for assistance he had practically dropped everything to help her, though she supposes she did have Merlin at her side back then. “It’s just -- you helped me back in second year giving me sleeping draughts and sending me to Professor Nimueh and I was hoping you might be able to help again, sir.”

There are several long moments of silence. She watches as Gaius stares at an old book with a faded cover and yellowed pages sitting on his desk. The open page is difficult for Morgana to decipher upside down but the pictures seem to depict people in various states of agony with black liquid dripping from their eyes. At last he looks up at her with a defeated sort of expression and nods. “I believe I have something.” He rummages around in his cupboards for several moments before he pulls out a vial of amber liquid. He hands it to her with a stern expression. “One drop in a glass of water right before bed. If you are still having nightmares you may increase it to two. If that doesn’t work then come back and we can dilute some Draught of the Living Death.” Morgana feels her eyes widen and Gaius finally grants her a gentle smile. “We would ensure that it is not strong enough for you to slip into a coma.”

Morgana pockets the vial with a smile. “Thank you, professor.” She turns to make her way to breakfast.

“And Morgana?” She stops at the threshold of the door and looks back at the older man wearing an expression that looks incredibly sad. “Best not to mention this to anyone else.”

She nearly laughs out loud. Another secret added to her collection.

\--

Arthur finally corners Morgana at breakfast Tuesday morning. She’s been avoiding him. The only time she spoke to him since their night in the woods was during their walk back to the castle where she hissed, “we can’t talk until the _meeting_.” And while it might be true that they couldn’t get into specifics unless they were alone, Arthur is fairly certain he can still yell at her.

Entering the Great Hall, he passes the rather pathetic display of House Points, glaring at the enormous stack of blue stones, leagues ahead of all the other Houses (at least Gryffindor wasn’t in last place). He makes his way through the tangle of students toward his sister. He sits beside her with a thud and a glare and she quickly pockets a small vial. 

She scowls at him. “But,” she says, “I saw Merlin and he said you already ate…” She grits her teeth and narrows her eyes. “ _Traitor_.” She gives Arthur an appraising look. “I miss the days when he was loyal to me.”

Arthur ignores how much he enjoys the idea that Merlin is loyal to him and glares at his sister. He needs to _focus_. “I’m very mad at you.”

She takes a bite of her porridge. “Obviously.”

Arthur’s nostrils flare. “Is that all you are going to say for yourself?”

Morgana sighs and plays with her food. “You’ll understand when I tell you but --” she cuts off as Gwen and Lance walk by eyeing them suspiciously. When they pass she continues, “but we can’t talk about it _here_.”

A chorus of hoots fills the Great Hall as the owls swoop down dropping off the morning paper and mail deliveries. There is a brief shower of paper and parcels.

Morgana starts packing her bags. 

“Where are you going?” Arthur has a whole speech planned. About impulsivity and stupidity and trust. And how he was her brother and she should have _known_ he would have supported her if it was really important and if you can’t count on a sibling to follow you into a dangerous forest then who can you count on? But she’s about to leave before he gets to _any_ of that. “I know for a fact you have a free period.”

“Apparition lessons.”

Arthur narrows his eyes. Apparition lessons were offered thrice a year and you took the class during the term you came of age. “We don’t turn seventeen until March.”

Morgana gives a mischievous grin and leans forward. For a minute it feels like nothing is wrong between them and they’re plotting some sort of prank together like they did when they were children. “I _know_. They made a clerical error and my name was accidentally added to the list. And I’m not about to correct them.”

Arthur lets out an annoyed huff. “Why am I never the beneficiary of clerical errors?”

Morgana shrugs her bag onto her shoulder. “Destiny must not be on your side.”

Before Morgana finishes her statement, an owl drops a letter onto Arthur’s face narrowly avoiding his eye just as a second owl drops the morning paper in the remnants of Morgana’s breakfast, splattering his clothing. Morgana looks like she’s trying not to laugh.

Arthur glares as he mutters a quick spell and waves his wand to clean his clothes. “I’m still mad.”

“I know. I’ll explain, I promise.” She gives a sad smile she reserves for when she wants to make Arthur feel bad for her. It tragically works.

“I’m still going to lecture you,” he warns.

“Oh Arthur, you wouldn’t be a Pendragon if you didn’t.”

Rather than being the correspondence he has desperately been waiting for from his father’s lawyer (though at this point he is less concerned with the suspicious contents of his father's will and much more concerned with the whereabouts of the missing lawyer), the letter is the standard update from Agravaine’s assistant and Arthur spares the contents one cursory glance before he lights it on fire with his wand. It’s certainly not the easiest way to dispose of the horseshit letters from Agravaine, but it is Arthur’s favorite. And since Professor Gaius has been getting his _own_ updates from the head of St. Mungo’s, Arthur knows the letters aren’t factual anyway.

(When Arthur asked Merlin why Gaius was so keen to help them Merlin had just shrugged and said, “he used to work for your father, right? As a Healer? Before he left for teaching and your father got into politics.” By “got into politics” he assumed Merlin meant “became a tyrannical bastard who Gaius disagreed with on a moral, philosophical, and personal level.”

Merlin gave the stump-like plant before them on the table a rather nervous jab with his wand, the tentacles lashing wildly blocking the hole right in the middle of it. Even Freya and Mordred were giving the shrubs a wide berth. Longbottom was really outdoing himself on his quest to find the most horrifying plants in existence.

Arthur blinked in surprise. This was the first he’d ever heard about anything like this. “I didn’t know that.” Why wouldn’t his father have ever said anything about Gaius working for him? He certainly talked about Potions enough during his holidays.

Merlin shrugged and snapped his goggles back over his eyes and Arthur did the same as they stared down the Snargaluff. Merlin pulled a sickle out of his robes and curled his lip at the plant. “I’ll toss you for who has to stick their hand in there.”)

With a quick look at the front page of the _Prophet_ , “Head of Department of Mysteries Spills Secrets” (Bayard, a longtime friend of his father, should really know better than to publicly declare his opposition to Agravaine) he throws the paper into his bag and makes his way to a dark corner of the library he has not visited in weeks.

Part of him (the same part that’s painfully honest and he locks away from his other thoughts lest they too start to get _ideas_ ) misses this grotesque corner of the library. Morgana had certainly expedited Arthur’s research and pushed the group into _actually_ making strides, but there was something nice and maybe even _special_ about those evenings that were just him and Merlin. When Merlin would look at him with mischief in his eyes and make Arthur’s heart stutter just a tick.

He’s surprised (but he really shouldn’t be) when he finds Merlin sitting at the ancient table.

(After they had disintegrated it, Madam Pince had chased them down and made them repair it by hand. He might still have the splinters.)

Merlin looks equally surprised to see him. “Thought you were going to harangue Morgana?”

Arthur sits down and drags his Defense Against the Dark Arts book out of his bag. Potter had assigned a ridiculously long essay about how to identify a Shade from a Ghost and had strongly hinted that in the next term they would be facing _actual_ Shades. “I tried but she snuck her way into Apparition lessons.” Merlin snorts, going back to his own essay. Arthur studies him for several moments when he realizes something. “When’s your birthday?”

Merlin gives him a puzzled look. “July 23rd.”

Arthur looks expectant and Merlin just keeps staring at him in confusion. “This is the part where you ask me when _my_ birthday is.”

“Seeing as you and Morgana are _twins_ , I’m guessing it’s the same as hers,” Merlin says shaking his head, turning back down to his books.

It still bothers Arthur, how much more Merlin knows about him than he does Merlin. Part of it has to be his friendship with Morgana. He would have learned a lot about Arthur by sheer association with his sister. But some of it has to be _more_. Merlin will stare at him for just a few minutes and puzzle out exactly what’s troubling him. It’s like he can see clear into Arthur’s soul.

(He hopes he can’t see too deep as he might learn things Arthur refuses to acknowledge himself.)

And he still wants _so_ _badly_ to know Merlin just as well.

“Lance says you saved him from a gryphon once.”

Merlin hums without looking up. “Lance exaggerates.”

“What do you mean?”

Merlin gives him an exasperated look. “Are you just trying to distract me so I fail all my essays and you get top marks this year?”

“No,” Arthur says quietly looking down at his book. He shouldn’t be so hurt by an offhand comment. He shouldn’t be trying to get closer to Merlin. He shouldn’t have sat down in the first place.

Before he can leave, Merlin’s hand is on his, an inferno against his skin (his next question should be to ask if Merlin is perpetually running a fever). 

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says. “There’s just a lot happening between the club and Agravaine maybe taking over the world and the fact that the professors seem determined to make sure we all have nervous breakdowns by the sheer volume of work we need to complete.” Merlin’s staring at him with his eyes huge and wide and _blue_. “I’m taking all my stress out on you.”

“I’ve done the same to you,” Arthur says, looking down at their hands suddenly unable to meet his gaze. He likes the way it feels, to have Merlin’s fingers over his hand, curling around his wrist.

“Not recently,” Merlin whispers, like it’s a secret. 

Arthur swallows. “No, not recently.” Arthur whispers too because he realizes it is.

He looks up and Merlin is giving him one of those smiles that make his eyes crinkle at the corners and Arthur’s heart starts racing and he’s sure Merlin must be able to feel it with his fingers so close to his pulse point and that annoying voice is _screaming_ in Arthur’s head and he thinks he might actually listen to it this time. But then Merlin’s eyes flick over his shoulder and his expression turns to one of perplexion as he squints his eyes.

Arthur’s stomach drops (in something that would be accurately described as disappointment though Arthur won’t call it that, not yet).

“I think Gwen is _watching us_ with omnioculars.”

Arthur turns and sure enough a mess of dark curls ducks below a bookshelf at the other end of the library.

He turns back around, consternation momentarily overriding everything else. “What the hell is that about?”

\--

Morgana is furiously scribbling away on the blackboard when Merlin and Arthur arrive.

“Morgana --“ Arthur starts.

Without turning around she says, “can we skip the part where you yell at me and move on to what I discovered?”

“We saw Agravaine.”

That stops Morgana completely. She turns around with huge eyes. “What?”

Arthur crosses his arms. “When we went after you, because we were _worried_ about you, because you went to an incredibly dangerous forest completely alone.” He glares and she glares right back. “But instead of finding _you_ , we found Agravaine. And then _wyverns._ ”

“And a unicorn,” Merlin adds. Arthur gives him a look like he thinks he’s being an idiot and Merlin shrugs. “Well we _did_.”

Morgana looks between the two of them. Arthur’s story has prompted several questions she desperately needs answered. She goes with the most pressing matter first. “What was Agravaine doing there?”

Arthur shakes his head. “You first. What the hell were you _thinking_?”

Morgana scrubs her hands over her face and starts pacing the length of the room. “I don’t _know_! I was being stupid I just _needed_ some answers. My lessons with Nimueh are moving at a glacial pace and my magic is fucking up left and right and I can’t sleep and if I just knew _more_ about Old Magic I could use my Visions to just _See_ what the fuck is happening and then Sir Cadogan --“

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says, jaw clenched. “You went into the Forbidden Forest on advice from a barely sentient _portrait_?”

Morgana lets out a breath, “ _yes_. It was dumb and stupid and I should have known you were foolish enough to come with me if I had bothered to wait and ask. Now get on with the yelling.” Morgana gives an impatient wave of her hand.

Arthur sticks out his bottom lip. “Well, it’s not as satisfying if you aren’t going to yell back.” Morgana rolls her eyes. Leave it to Arthur to complain because she’s being _agreeable_. “So what did Sir Cadogan have to say that was so inspiring you ran headlong into the arms of death?”

Merlin hums. “That was rather poetic.”

Arthur looks like he might strangle Merlin and Merlin is giving a rather wicked grin. She jumps into her story before the two of them can start arguing.

“Sir Cadogan was alive when Old Magic was around, right? So I asked him if he remembered anything and then he said that even though _he_ didn’t know the Centaurs would.”

Merlin’s eyes are huge. “Did you meet any?”

“Yes. Her name was Calliope, she was lovely.” Lovely might be a bit of an exaggeration but she hadn’t killed Morgana where she stood which had to count for something.

“So what’d she say?”

Morgana gestures to the board. She’d written down the words Calliope spoke verbatim. She’d been thinking of nothing but the prophecy since she heard it. Some of it is fairly obvious, the Circle of Time would mean that something that happened before is happening again (i.e. the return of Old Magic). The Once and Future King, the Daughter of Pluto, and Magic Itself are probably people the prophecy is referencing and it’s their job to free the magic, all while one of them loses their magic (the loss of magic), one of them probably betrays the others (the loss of trust), and one might not make it out (the loss of life).

Some of it is less clear. What is the den of dragons and what is the _binding_ and the prophecy doesn’t really say _how_ the magic is freed not to mention the people the prophecy references isn’t exactly clear either. 

But it’s a running start.

Morgana is practically vibrating with excitement or possibly the twelve sips of Gwen’s Wide-Eye potion that she asked her to brew for her (she makes a note to ask Gaius if the sleeping draught he gave her should not be mixed with other potions, but she hasn’t had a nightmare since she started taking his potion so she’s certainly not about to stop). “Calliope said that Old Magic is trapped and the time of its return is near and this prophecy is the key to releasing it!” And suddenly her words die high in her throat at the expression on Arthur’s face.

Prophecies are a painful subject.

(Though she still doesn’t understand how Arthur can blame himself.)

Arthur swallows thickly and doesn’t quite meet her gaze. “This is…fascinating Morgana but I think we might have more pressing concerns.”

They fill Morgana in on the conversation they overheard, fear tingling down her spine as they speak. Agravaine met with someone? Who is creepier than he is? And he’s looking for something? And their father is in danger once more? Not to mention that wyverns who haven’t been seen since the days of Camelot are _back_?

She lets out a huge breath then turns to the board and under “goals” right beneath _solve the prophecy_ she writes _save Uther_. She stares at it for a few moments before adding a comma and then _again_. (Her father is lucky he has his children looking out for him or else he would wither away to nothing and no one would have any idea why. Well he’s lucky Arthur is looking out for him and Morgana is fueled by a crippling guilt.) “It certainly makes more sense that Agravaine would seek an outside hire to do his dirty work for him.” She bites her lip. “But who was that person?”

“Dunno.” Merlin shivers. “Their voice…it was masked somehow. It kept changing.”

Morgana gives a sharp nod. “Well, we have our next mission.”

Arthur’s eyebrows skyrocket. “ _Mission_?”

“For the club!” Morgana says exasperated. “We need to solve the prophecy.”

“What does the prophecy have to do with stopping Agravaine or saving our father?”

Morgana throws her arms up. “Well I don’t know! But it’s too convenient!”

What are the chances that she’s started having Visions with Old Magic and received a book telling her how to tap into it and met with a Centaur telling her it’s time to bring it back and none of that means _anything_?

She wants to explain, everything, no secrets.

She sticks up her chin in defiance. “What are the odds that everything going on isn’t connected?”

Arthur barks a laugh. “Fairly high I’d wager! Not everything is some sort of elaborate riddle written by the stars just for you!”

The statement hits her like a punch in the gut.

“Arthur,” Merlin’s voice is a low warning but she’s had years of dealing with Arthur and knows how to play the game.

He’s not ready for the whole story, not yet. Not while everything is so nebulous and uncertain. Not while she can’t even use Old Magic and doesn’t know how to explain what everything means. The unknown is the easiest way to drive Arthur away and if they’re going to do this, solve the prophecy and save Old Magic, she’s going to need Arthur.

So she’ll harbor the secrets for just a little longer.

Morgana gives him a soft look. “I can’t explain it. Not with logic or evidence but I _know_ everything is connected.” She tries to give him a smile. “And if we crack this prophecy, everything is going to make sense.”

Arthur gives an exaggerated nod. “Right, so knowing full well that most prophecies are utter _horseshit_ , we just need to solve this prognostication and free a magic that hasn’t been seen for over one thousand years? And also _once again_ figure out what horror has befallen our father? All while Agravaine is doing gods know what? Great. Brilliant. Too easy.”

Merlin furrows his brow and looks between the two of them. She doesn’t know how much Merlin knows about the circumstances surrounding their mother’s death and doesn’t want to be the one to divulge the secret Arthur guards so closely to his heart.

“I know you don’t believe in prophecies or destiny or the stars but I need you to believe in me.” She gives her brother a long stare. “Arthur? Are you in?”

Arthur works his jaw for a few moments. “That’s a low blow Morgana.” She knows, it’s why she said it. His shoulders slump and she knows she’s got him. “I don’t like it.”

“I know.”

At last Arthur sighs. “ _Fine_ , as long as Uther is the priority.”

Morgana beams. “Then it’s settled. We need to find out what Agravaine plans for Uther this second time around and work on figuring out the prophecy. _And_ I still think we should invite Gwen and maybe one of your obnoxious Housemates as well.”

As if on cue, the door to the room slams open and the three of them turn in horror to stare at a very irate Hufflepuff and a slightly apologetic Gryffindor.

“Well then I’m _honored_ you thought of extending an invitation.”

\--

“…cannot _believe_ you would do something so _utterly_ stupid!”

“We didn’t have a choice!”

“You thought it best to break into your own home!”

“Is it really breaking in if it’s _your house_?”

Gwen glares at Merlin. “ _Oh_ , I’ll get to you next.” Merlin shrinks in his seat next to Arthur. The three of them are sat in a row as if they are being reprimanded by the Headmistress or perhaps very disappointed parents. She looks back at Morgana. “And you went into the forest!”

“I’ve already done plenty of groveling.”

“I wouldn’t really say it was _plenty_ ,” Arthur grumbles.

Lance shakes his head at Arthur. “Can’t believe you didn’t include us,” he mumbles.

Gwen gives her boyfriend an exasperated look. “ _Lance_.”

He holds up his hands. “You can’t tell me you aren’t a little hurt not to be invited.”

Morgana raises her hand. “I wanted to invite you, Arthur wouldn’t let me.”

“You,” Gwen turns back to Morgana. “ _Promised_ me you would tell me if something bad happened! I think setting your bed on fire more than qualifies!”

Arthur turns to stare at her and sees Merlin do the same. “You set your bed on fire?” they ask in unison.

Morgana opens and closes her mouth. “It didn’t seem relevant. It hasn’t happened since last week.”

Arthur shakes his head and tunes out Gwen and Morgana’s arguing. He’s felt slightly off-kilter since Morgana mentioned the prophecy.

He can feel Merlin studying him and does his best to keep his face carefully blank. Although with how well Merlin reads him, he’s probably already made several huge leaps in assumptions and starting parsing together why it is Arthur is so against prophecies.

(And he’s distantly shocked to find that he _wants_ to tell Merlin. He wants to trust Merlin because he thinks that Merlin just might understand and maybe even like him anyway.

Though that might be wishful thinking.)

A soft noise in the hall reaches Arthur’s ears.

“Shut up,” Arthur cuts off the bickering, head tilted to the side. “Did you hear that?”

Everyone goes silent and still. From behind the door there is a very quiet and faint “meow.”

Arthur turns to Merlin with wide eyes. “Aithusa?” Merlin shakes his head. “ _Fuck_.” This is exactly what Arthur had been talking about! The more people there were, the harder it was going to be to keep the club a _secret_. He turns his glare onto Gwen and Lance.

“I’m so sorry,” Gwen whispers. “I didn’t know she followed us.” If Mrs. Norris was here, that meant Filch wouldn’t be far behind.

Arthur rubs a hand over his face. “I’ll get her away and then you lot should flee. Make sure to seal the door,” he adds with a pointed look at Morgana. 

He’d much rather face Filch at the moment than listen to arguing and worry about his father and his uncle and think about the cruel hands of fate writing the story of his life without any of his input.

Mrs. Norris sits a few steps down with her huge yellow eyes wide.

Now that he’s in the hall he realizes he doesn’t actually have a plan, he’s not sure if she’s just going to follow him or not and the idea of picking her up seems more terrifying than the wyverns he faced. The door behind him opens again before clicking shut.

“Emrys!” He hisses, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Keeping you from being a self-sacrificing prat.” Merlin whispers a spell and a small red beam of light shoots from the end of his wand. Mrs. Norris’ pupils go huge at the sight of it. “Come on,” he whispers.

Using the light, Merlin leads Mrs. Norris down the staircase, winding their way down the tower, her tail swishing back and forth as she tries to pounce on the little red dot. Arthur walks close behind shaking his head. Merlin really is a cat whisperer.

They clear the staircase, creeping along, ears attuned for sounds of Filch’s approach. When they are nearly to the end of the next corridor a huge crash sounds at the end of the hallway, as if a dozen suits of armor have toppled over. Mrs. Norris gives off a loud wail and races away to find Filch.

“Shit,” Arthur swears. “What was that?”

Merlin grabs his hand and pulls him toward the rotating stairs. “Doesn’t matter, we’ve got to move!” He flashes a grin over his shoulder and Arthur’s already racing heart goes even faster. “Try and keep up.” And then Merlin has the audacity to _wink_.

They race through the castle, bursting into the main rotating staircase, dark and dimly lit, and fly down the nearest set of stairs. Just as it begins to switch position, Merlin leaps onto another and Arthur slams into his back as he lands the jump, grabbing Merlin around the waist for support.

“Where are they?” Filch’s voice drifts down from high up the stairwell though it's too dark to see where he is (and hopefully see them), his voice nearly as creaky as the scraping of the stone. “Which way did they go, Mrs. Norris?”

Merlin lets out a litany of quiet swears. 

They take the stairs two at a time, Merlin nearly face-planting at the bottom and Arthur bunches up the back of Merlin’s robes in his hand to keep him on his two feet. Keeping a firm grasp on him, Merlin leads them down a corridor on the third floor and they fall through the door at the end of the hallway. Flying across the small empty room, Merlin lands on a trap door, rips it open, and lets out another string of colorful curses.

Arthur’s stomach drops. 

“The one time Hogwarts is actually proactive about sealing off secret passageways,” Merlin grumbles.

Filch’s voice calls to them from the hall. “I know you’re down here! Come out!”

Merlin shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, keeping his voice low. “You can hide in here and I’ll just say I was out here alone.”

Arthur scoffs at him. “Don’t try to be noble, Emrys. It doesn’t suit you. If either of us were doing that it would be _me_.” And it’s a stupid idea anyway as Filch is still going to look in this room and catch them and ask what they were doing out after curfew and then Mrs. Norris will lead him to the classroom and Filch will call for a professor to do some forensic magic and Morgana, Gwen, and Lance will be caught as well and then they’ll all be expelled and have to get jobs in the muggle world. 

None of that is going to make Merlin feel any better though. 

“We’re going to get caught,” Arthur says gently as Merlin bangs his wand against the sealed door. “No use doing that now.” A better use of their time would be quickly coming up with some sort of excuse.

Merlin’s head snaps up. “You’re right…” he says slowly. “We _are_ going to get caught.” His eyes are huge and he tilts his head to the side, his “thinking” expression. Arthur’s stomach gives a low swoop. Nothing good ever happens when Merlin wears that expression.

A door down the hall opens and shuts. “I’ve got you!” Filch yells. “Can’t run anymore there’s nowhere left to go!” He’s getting closer, just a few more moments and he’ll find them in this empty room.

Merlin jumps to his feet. “Do you trust me?”

It feels like a weighted question but Arthur’s too anxious to do anything but answer honestly. “Yes.”

Filch’s footsteps sound closer to the door.

Merlin sticks up his chin and squares his shoulders as if readying for battle.

“Then I need you to kiss me.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates on Fridays.
> 
> Next Chapter Features: The induction of new club members, a breakthrough in a prophecy, and the "idiots" part of the "idiots to lovers" tag ;)
> 
> Comments and kudos much appreciated!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say Friday updates? Was that a thing I said? Turns out, I'm a liar.
> 
> This chapter is a behemoth. I tried to edit it down and then cut it in half but nothing felt organic so I hope you enjoy this beast.

Somewhere, deep down, in the very back of Arthur’s subconscious, he _knows_ that this isn’t real. Merlin is too analytical and calculating. And getting caught for snogging after hours is the better alternative to exposing their club and getting everyone expelled. This is a distraction so they don’t get caught for the real crime.

But that part of him doesn’t have a whole lot of control at the moment.

Because he’s kissing _Merlin_.

And Merlin’s kissing him _back_.

And Arthur’s brain is so far removed from the situation he’s fairly certain he will never see it again (but if that’s the price he has to pay to feel like _this_ , then he thinks he’d pay it 1000 times over).

Arthur meant to just brush their lips together once, just like Merlin had asked, or rather demanded. (Should he be concerned that he did not even _consider_ telling Merlin no and coming up with another excuse? Maybe.) But the moment his lips touched Merlin’s there was a zap like being hit with lightning and the only thought ringing through his mind is _more_.

He doesn’t remember moving but he’s pushed Merlin against the wall, pressing them together from chest to knee. Merlin’s hands are in his hair and his own hands are bunched in Merlin’s robes, trying to pull them _closer_ and it shouldn’t feel this good because it’s _Merlin_ but since his brain isn’t here he doesn’t bother to worry about that.

Something ignites Arthur from the inside out and he pushes more firmly against Merlin, biting against his lips and then Merlin makes this _noise_ that sends a fire through Arthur so he does it again and then there’s Merlin’s _tongue_ and his knees nearly give out and Merlin tastes like honey and ozone and _magic_ and if he moves his leg _just so_ they’d be --

“Ah hah!”

The door to the room is kicked open, slamming against the wall. They spring apart, Arthur gasping for air like he hadn’t been breathing because he _hadn’t_. He looks over at Merlin and --

Fuck.

Merlin looks absolutely wrecked, his hair is everywhere (did Arthur even touch his hair?) and he’s heaving for air and his pupils are blown so wide and his _mouth_ \--

It takes an astonishing amount of willpower to not snog him senseless against the wall (again).

“Caught after hours!” Filch says. Arthur’s brain still hasn’t returned so he doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed. Distantly he wonders if he will get his prefects badge taken away. Leon should have got it in the first place. Filch grabs them both by the ears and hauls them to his office. He throws them in the two chairs across from his desk.

Filch is saying something but Arthur can’t really hear anything over the roaring in his ears. In some sort of surreal dream state he’s handed a detention slip to be signed by his Head of House in the morning, they each lose points for their Houses, and then they’re dismissed.

Outside the office Arthur blinks dumbly at Merlin. He should say something. But he doesn’t know what or how. He’s not sure he’s ever going to be able to speak again.

(Worth it.)

Merlin bites his lip which is still _red_ and Arthur can’t tear his eyes away.

“It was just so the club didn’t get found out,” Merlin says. 

Arthur looks up but Merlin’s not looking at him, studying his feet. He keeps going. “It wasn’t _real_ \-- it didn’t --“

The words make something sharp twist in Arthur’s stomach. Words from several weeks ago echo loudly in the forefront of his thoughts: _nothing like that is happening between me and Arthur ever_. Reason floods him all at once. Of course, the club, it was all for keeping the secret, it wasn’t -- 

Arthur takes in a steadying breath. “Right. It didn’t mean anything.”

Merlin looks up, face completely blank. “Right.”

A beat.

“Erm, well goodnight?” He says it like a question and immediately wants to gouge himself with his wand.

Merlin gives a curt nod. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

Arthur swallows down the bitter bile of disappointment as they go their separate ways.

\--

Merlin would rather be anywhere else in the entire world at the moment.

Gaius blinks at him several times from across his desk.

Merlin’s not sure what the protocol is for when you’re caught snogging a boy in the middle of the night and you have to discuss it with your father figure, but he sort of feels like Gaius should take the lead on this one.

Oh gods, what if Gaius tells his _mum._

Gaius heaves a sigh. “Do you have anything you want to say for yourself?”

Merlin shakes his head. “No.” 

He’s praying Gaius doesn’t want to talk about anything as that would be…unbearable. Nearly as unbearable as having to sit beside _Arthur_ for the rest of the day. He assumes they aren’t going to talk about it, as that is Arthur’s usual way of dealing with things. And part of him agrees that’s the best course of action but another part…

He wasn’t doing a whole lot of thinking when he asked Arthur to kiss him. The main thought ringing through his mind had been to keep the Evil Knights from being discovered at all costs and it had seemed like the most convenient solution (in the cold light of day he has since come up with almost a _dozen_ other solutions and can only blame is sleep-addled brain for its inability to be _useful_ when _necessary_ ). He really didn’t think Arthur was going to agree to it and he definitely didn’t think Arthur was going to kiss him like _that_. But he maybe should have known better as Arthur Pendragon wasn’t known for doing things halfway.

And that _kiss_ \--

Gaius hums and Merlin tries to quell his mounting blush. “I think my leech tank could use a cleaning.”

Merlin nods aggressively. “Right, that’s fair.”

“And there are quite a few cauldrons that need scrubbed.”

“Sure.”

“And I think you should help me prepare my lessons for the next two weeks.”

“Great.”

Gaius raises an eyebrow. “And it better not happen again.”

“It won’t!” Arthur didn’t -- and he didn’t _either_ \-- so it was _fine_. It didn’t mean anything. But he can’t very well explain that to _Gaius_.

Gaius hums and inclines his head. Merlin relaxes. Gaius studies him. “So are the two of you…”

Merlin puts his head in his hands. “ _Please_ don’t finish that sentence.”

“Is that a ‘no’?”

“ _Gaius_!”

Gaius is barely suppressing a smile. “Then I’ll see you first thing when your classes end. Now if you don’t mind, please send in Mr. Valiant Veilleux. It appears as though you were not alone wandering the corridors last night.”

“Gladly.”

He sprints from the room and desperately makes himself think of anything but Arthur Pendragon.

\--

The evil lair is in the midst of quite the transformation. While the disgusting vials still glitter along the wall, the desks and chairs have been transfigured into a new life. Cushions in a myriad of jewel tones litter the floor and wingback chairs sit before the windows. Enchanted candles float above their heads and the ceiling has been enchanted to display the night sky, just like the one in the Divination Classroom.

Morgana stands behind the teacher’s desk and throws her hair over her shoulders as she surveys the group before her seated amongst floor cushions. “I believe our first order of business is to welcome our newest members,” Morgana says with a smirk toward her brother. He gives her a half-hearted eye roll. He’s been acting strange since they were almost caught. She’s hoping that now that Gwen enchanted the staircase to give anyone who gets too close a feeling of horrible uneasiness, he’ll come around.

Gwen crosses her arms and adjusts herself on a cushion so pink it is slightly burning Morgana’s retinas. “I’m only here to make sure you don’t do anything that could get yourself killed.” She purses her lips and then amends her statement. “And I guess also to stop Agravaine’s hostile takeover of the Wizarding World.”

Lance however is grinning like it’s Christmas morning. “I’m just happy to be included.” He shoots Merlin a huge smile which Merlin returns with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

_Ugh_ , these idiot _boys_ are going to be the _death_ of her. She thought it would get better with more members to buffer the sheer stupidity but Merlin and Arthur have already somehow gotten into a fight and the meeting _just started_ and the two of them haven’t even _talked_. She might have to make Lance’s job running interference between the two of them.

It’s a problem for another day.

Morgana clears her throat and throws her shoulders back. “We should start by discussing the prophecy.”

The glare she earns from Arthur would make a dragon cower. “You don’t think we should start with discussing our father?” (Arthur had refused to sit on the ground and instead is leaning rather menacingly against a desk.)

Only a small flicker of guilt flares in her gut. She hasn’t spared too many thoughts for Uther Pendragon over the course of the past week. It isn’t that she doesn’t care, she certainly does, it’s just that she _knows_ their answers are going to lie in this prophecy.

Crossing her arms, she raises an imperious eyebrow. “Do you have anything relevant to add that we don’t already know?” Arthur’s eyes are practically slits as he stares her down. “Because right now the only information we have is that _something_ is going to happen. We can’t tell Gaius because as Merlin pointed out we can’t exactly disclose how we learned the information and St. Mungo’s is already doing extra security sweeps under his orders. My Visions aren’t making sense. Perhaps,” she adds nonchalantly, “if I could take the potion --“

“NO!” Four voices yell at her. At least they are a united front.

“Did we not learn our lesson last time that we need to be _quiet_?” She hisses leaning over the desk.

Lance scratches his neck. “I actually charmed the door with an Imperturable Charm so no sound would escape. Is that alright? I know I didn’t ask.”

Merlin gives his first real smile of the night and hits his shoulder. “That’s brilliant. Knew it was a good idea to invite you.”

Arthur looks ready to _murder_ Lance so Morgana intercedes. “So we have no leads. At least with this,” she gestures to the prophecy, “we could theoretically make progress.” Arthur scowls at the floor. Their father doesn’t deserve his son’s devotion. “Arthur,” she says in a far gentler voice than she usually uses with him. “The moment I See something or we know something has happened we can _do_ something. And if you have any ideas then I’m happy to hear them but unless you want to camp out at the foot of his bed at St. Mungo’s, there isn’t a lot we can do for him at the moment.”

After watching his foot trace patterns into the worn stone of the floor (she should put down some rugs) he finally meets her gaze. “That does sound like an awful idea.”

“So you agree?” 

He rolls his eyes but without his former malice. “What great predictions have you divined from the prophecy, your Highness?”

She’s forgiven for now.

“I think our first task should be to figure out who the prophecy is talking about as that will probably give us a better indication of where it will take place and when it might happen.” 

Lance raises his hand. “Why don’t we just go to the Ministry and look at the prophecy ourselves? They’ve all got names on them, haven’t they? If Gwen, Merlin, and I go then Agravaine never has to know that the two of you are involved.” 

Morgana shakes her head before he’s even finished talking. “Even if I wasn’t worried about Agravaine and the people he’s got working for him, it wouldn’t matter. For starters, we’d have to break into the Department of Mysteries and then search through thousands of crystal balls to find the right one. And names usually only appear on prophecies after they are completed unless the outcome is certain. Even if we found the right one it would likely just bear three question marks.”

Merlin leans forward. “But _you_ heard the prophecy? So can’t you take it off the shelf?”

Morgana looks in expasteration at the group before her. “You all really should have continued your Divination studies. The only people who can take a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries are the person who spoke the prophecy or the names _on_ the prophecy. Terrible things happen to wizards who steal futures that do not belong to them.”

“Then,” Merlin says, “we could get your Centaur friend to get it.”

Gwen looks at Merlin in horror. “I think _friend_ might be a generous term. Or did you miss the part of Morgana’s story where she said the woman threatened her?”

“Well, it’s worth a try!”

“It wouldn’t matter,” Morgana says quickly. “I don’t think she’s the first to ever speak it, she was just accessing the words through her Sight. For all we know the prophecy could be thousands of years old. So it likely doesn’t bear her name either.”

Arthur sighs. “Then how is this any easier than figuring out what’s wrong with father? We don’t have any information.”

“ _No_ , but we do have a puzzle to solve.” Morgana puts her hands on her hips as she reads over the words on the board. “The _Daughter of Pluto_ could be a Scorpio as that is the ruling planet for that star sign.”

“Or a necromancer,” Merlin suggests, “if you’re basing it off Roman Mythology. Pluto was the god of the underworld and witches who dabble in necromancy call themselves Pluto’s Disciples.”

“It could also be a magical artifact…” Morgana trails off. “I assumed the beginning of the prophecy referred to three people but it could very well just be one person with some sort of object and their magic. And then they could individually have to pay the price of freeing the magic.”

Merlin snorts. “Well I’d hate to be that person.”

Gwen furrows her brow and looks around the group. “Isn’t the person King Arthur? From Camelot?” She says it like it should be obvious.

Morgana’s pulse starts thrumming in her veins. “What makes you say that?”

(Gwen was proving imperative to the group for a myriad of reasons. For starters, her transfiguration skills had turned the creepy classroom into something that resembled one of the House common rooms (it was slightly too cheerful for Morgana’s taste but it would have to do). And Gwen had adjusted her already impressive Wide-Eye Potion by adding more Billywig String that one drop of was enough to keep you awake all night.)

“It’s just -- in the muggle stories of Camelot they focus on King Arthur and his knights rather than Merlin and the wizards. The muggles call King Arthur the _Once and Future King_.”

Several hundred images flash before her eyes: Arthur in red watching people burn, Arthur in chainmail, Arthur on a throne, Arthur in a crown, Arthur pulling a sword from a stone. The room sways slightly before her eyes. Morgana clutches a piece of chalk between her fingers, the powder coming off in sheaths from her tight grip. On the board she drags a blood red line from Arthur’s name to the phrase in the prophecy that says “Once and Future King.”

She looks at Arthur with huge eyes. Her brother stares back in an expression of disbelief. Gwen and Lance are looking between everyone like they’ve missed something and Merlin is pale and ashen. But Morgana doesn’t stop looking at Arthur.

If _he’s_ in the prophecy and someone in the prophecy _is magic_ and that means they use _Old Magic_ then _maybe_ \--

“I really don’t think it’s about me,” Arthur’s voice is resolute, a command, like a king.

Morgana’s pulse is still thrumming. “All my Visions -- they’re in Camelot and you’re _there_ \--”

Arthur’s jaw is tight and his eyes fierce. “You said you didn’t know if your Visions were showing events as they were! Your mind could have just been putting faces of people you know onto historical figures!”

Morgana clenches her jaw. “Or it could actually be you!”

Arthur gives a laugh without a trace of humor. “You think I’m the reincarnation of some muggle King?”

“I’m Seeing you and your name is Arthur!”

“There’s a first-year named Arthur! And a fifth-year name Louis! And a handful of Henrys! Why can’t they be the kings the prophecy is referring to?” He shakes his head. “You’re seeing what you want to see and turning coincidences into more than they are.”

Gods she’d give anything to know she got to play a part in something huge and brilliant that would change the world and Arthur is acting like it’s a _chore_. “You know how I feel about coincidence!”

“And you know how I feel about _prophecies_!” Arthur roars. 

It’s a nerve. And she knows better than to have struck it.

The room is completely silent as Gwen, Lance, and Merlin watch the battle wage before them. 

This was the problem with working with siblings, or maybe this was solely a Morgana and Arthur problem. Their relationship was forged in contradictions, the two of them as similar as they were different. It was as if they were cut from the same cloth, giving them the same stubbornness and fierce determination but then someone embroidered different beliefs on their now separate tapestries. Morgana put her stock in fate and Arthur believed only in the concrete realities he could see before him.

Morgana swallows. She’s angry. At herself for not presenting the matter more delicately and at Arthur for refusing to open his mind just an _inch_ and at the universe for once again giving all the glory to her pigheaded brother, even if he didn’t believe it yet. “Whether or not you believe in it, destiny is _real_. You shouldn’t dismiss the possibilities so quickly.”

Arthur studies her, eyes slightly wet, anger leaving him all at once. “Well then I hope I’m not the one that _dies_.”

Morgana shakes her head at him. “I wouldn’t let that happen. And I might be wrong, wouldn’t be the first time,” she adds with a smile. But _if_ she’s right and if the stars are aligning the way she can _feel_ then that means she’ll be right beside him, _Magic Itself_. 

Arthur abruptly turns to the windows to compose himself. Morgana looks to the other three who appear as though they aren’t sure if they should leave and give them space or stay to make sure they don’t start fighting again and kill one another. “We need more information on Camelot. Wizard _and_ muggle legends. That’s the last time Old Magic ruled the land. That’s what all my Visions have been about. _That’s_ where we’re going to find our answers.”

Gwen looks nervously from Arthur back to Morgana. “I think I have a few muggle story books. I can bring them back after the holidays.” Lance offers to do the same with his wizard children’s stories. Merlin remains completely silent, never taking his eyes off of Arthur’s tense frame against the windows.

Morgana claps, trying to shift the mood. “Great, then we have a direction to go in. Any questions?”

Gwen shakes her head and Merlin still hasn’t looked away from her brother, a firm line etched between his brows. Lance raises a tentative hand.

“Why is the club evil?”

Arthur’s snort from the windows is more relieving than such an obnoxious noise has any right to be.

\--

Merlin does not have a crush on Arthur.

Arthur is rude and arrogant and so noble it makes him utterly _stupid_. And his crooked teeth aren’t cute at all and definitely detract from his overall appeal. The kiss wasn’t even -- ok so _maybe_ it was good -- but loads of people are good at kissing not just Arthur. And Merlin can do better than _Arthur_. He doesn’t even think about the kiss with Arthur or maybe doing it again. Especially not when Arthur bites his lips when he’s trying to work through a difficult part of his essay or when he presses them into a terse line when he’s angry or when he gives a cocky smirk and cuts his eyes at Merlin from his side making Merlin’s brain go slightly foggy or --

“Are you even listening, Merlin?”

Merlin blinks a few times at Morgana and nods. Gwen gives him her usual worried look, he just shrugs. They are in the library vigorously researching their final Potions essay of the term. Well, they are in the library _pretending_ to write their potions essay. Morgana is pouring over newspapers, trying to read between the lines both literally and metaphorically (“ugh, whoever let Morgause Gorlois, the same girl who was nearly expelled for running an illegal school newspaper, get promoted from gossip articles to interviewing top Ministry officials should be sent to Azkaban”), Gwen is taking a quiz in _Witch Weekly_ about which famous Quidditch player is your soulmate based on your choice in Honeydukes sweets (“if I don’t get Ginny Weasley this quiz is a sham”), and Merlin is the only one looking through their potions book though he is certainly not on the right page. 

Just like old times.

Morgana narrows her eyes but doesn’t comment.

Merlin’s having trouble focusing.

On the one hand, as per usual, he has to be worried about Arthur. Because Arthur is clearly freaking out about _maybe_ being included in a prophecy that may or may not be real. (Although if Merlin was in such a prophecy, he probably wouldn’t handle it all the well either.) But this time Arthur’s brooding is so much _worse_ because he and Arthur aren’t _talking_.

In class they hardly speak and during club meetings they stand on opposing sides of the room, avoiding eye contact. So he has no idea if Arthur would even talk to him if he tried to comfort him about having the weight of a destiny on his shoulders.

(He doesn’t let himself consider the possibility that the prophecy is _actually_ about Arthur because the only time he did panic closed his throat and he had to put his head between his knees right in the middle of the stairs and Mordred and Will dragged him to Madam Pomfrey’s where she poured at Pepper-Up potion down his throat and he _hates_ peppermint.)

And on the other (far less important but just as thought consuming) hand…Merlin could quite literally not stop thinking about The Kiss.

It’s just -- Arthur had seemed to _enjoy_ it (or at least that’s how Merlin remembers the situation with Arthur pressed against him, pushing him into the wall, licking into his mouth and --). But he would have said something if that was true, right? 

He also doesn’t really know about Arthur’s…proclivities. Not that Merlin was interested in… _pursuing_ anything it was just -- it’s _pivotal_ to his mental health to _know_ because if he doesn’t find out soon, he might drive himself to madness.

Back in fourth year, Arthur briefly dated Gwen which were easily the four longest weeks of Merlin’s life as he had to console a very heartbroken Lance and all of Merlin’s time with Gwen was suddenly full of Arthur. Then in fifth year he sort of dated Vivian or at least he snogged her in the halls an awful lot. And when Merlin told him _he_ was gay Arthur didn’t jump up and express that he was also interested in men. Grant it, they weren’t exactly _close_ at the time but whenever anyone came out to Merlin, he immediately did too. (It occurs to Merlin that he might be a touch self-centered.)

Merlin briefly considers asking Morgana about Arthur. She is his sister after all and maybe she would _know something_ \--

“Merlin, I can hear the screws squeaking on the hamster wheel that powers your brain. How about you give the poor creature a break?”

Nope, definitely shouldn’t ask Morgana.

His thoughts continue to distract him as the week progresses.

He could try talking to one of Arthur’s friends but he can already see Lance’s exasperated expression and Gwaine’s wicked grin.

As if merely thinking the name equivocates summoning, Gwaine appears at his side in the Great Hall during breakfast. He drapes himself across Merlin’s shoulders and leans in close. Gwaine has some sort of medical aversion to respecting personal space.

“I want in,” Gwaine says.

Merlin gives him what he hopes is a scathing look. It doesn’t work as Gwaine’s arm remains firmly wrapped around his shoulder. “On what?”

Gwaine leans in even closer and whispers, “your _secret club_!” Merlin looks around frantically but no one is sitting too close to hear.

“ _Will you keep your voice down_ ,” Merlin hisses back.

“So you admit it!”

Merlin shrugs his arms off and glares at him. “Gwaine, shut up! And it’s not a club,” Merlin says reflexively.

Gwaine leans on the table next to him. “Do you have badges?”

Merlin wants to say no but Gwen and Morgana _had_ made badges consisting of a knight’s helmet with devil horns while they were procrastinating in the library just the previous evening. Gwaine narrows his eyes and leans in closer. “Your silence is damning Emrys.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “What do you want me to do? Collect your resume and hold an interview?”

“Yes! I am great with secrets and spying!”

Merlin sighs. “I’ll take it up with the board of directors.” If they are adding more members, Gwaine isn’t the _worst_ choice. He certainly has a penchant for breaking rules.

Gwaine flashes his roguish grin. “Knew I could count on you, Merlin.” He ruffles Merlin’s hair and Merlin bats his hand away. Gwaine leans back with a content sigh. “At least you didn’t invite Mr. Knight-in-Shining-Armor before you invited me.”

Merlin presses his lips together and tries not to look too guilty.

“You invited Lance before you invited me?!”

\--

It hasn’t been a great week for Arthur. Finding out he might be in a prophecy where one of the people dies was less than ideal, particularly because he doesn’t actually _believe_ in prophecies and the last prophecy he had been in resulted in his mother’s death. He also really doesn’t like the idea of reincarnation and though Morgana didn’t explicitly say it, she clearly thinks he is some sort of king reborn. And he really, really doesn’t want that to be true. So he is very worried about all of that and his father and his uncle and the radio silence from Geoffrey Monmouth.

And now there’s _this_.

Arthur is trying not to overreact. 

He clutches his fork so tight his entire hand is white.

He and Merlin were fine. They weren’t talking about the kiss, which is fine, _great_ even because they could go back to their normal friendship. And they were back to normal, sort of. Things were a little awkward and tense and they hadn’t actually talked about _anything_ since it happened but that was _fine_ because the kiss didn’t mean anything (as they had _both_ agreed) so everything was truly brilliant.

What is _not_ fine is Gwaine throwing himself at Merlin in front of the _entire_ Great Hall.

“What do you think people see in Gwaine?”

He doesn’t mean to ask it but he has to say _something_.

Leon looks over to where Gwaine is sitting and then looks up at the ceiling while heaving a very loud sigh. Lance visibly stops mid-bite. (Lance has been essentially dancing on eggshells whenever he spoke to Arthur as of late, which is _awful_ , even if he is in some horseshit prophecy it’s not like it’s happening _right now._ ) Elyan rather unsuccessfully hides a snort.

Leon seems to collect himself and gives Arthur a look he can’t quite decipher. He almost looks _annoyed_ and maybe a little _pained_ , but that doesn’t make any sense. “Arthur. I _really_ don’t think we’re the people you want to talk to about this.”

Arthur sees Gwaine run his fingers through Merlin’s hair and he clutches his fork tighter. His stomach boils with the acidic surge of anger. “Gwaine’s my friend and he’s a _great friend_ but he’s a bit obnoxious, right?”

Lance and Leon shoot each other a look that Arthur doesn’t catch. Elyan chokes on his food.

Arthur leans forward, desperate for his friends to understand, to agree with him. Because he isn’t being irrational, there is _clearly_ something going on. “And he doesn’t really _do_ relationships,” Arthur continues. Wincing, Leon shoots a longing glance toward the door. “What if he _hurts_ Merlin?”

Lance and Elyan are looking far too amused given the dire state of the current situation (he never thought he’d miss sad-careful Lance). “I think Merlin is capable of handling himself.” Lance gives Arthur an appraising look. “And since when are you so interested in Merlin’s love life?”

Since he snogged him senseless in the middle of the night. Probably shouldn’t mention that, they might get the wrong idea.

“What?” Arthur says. “I’m not -- I don’t even -- I _care_ about all of my friends.”

Lance smirks (yes, he much prefers quiet-cautious Lance). “ _Friends_?” The way he says friends makes Arthur blush.

“ _Yes_ ,” Arthur hisses, praying his cheeks aren’t as heated as they feel.

Elyan leans forward. “So if Leon wanted to date Gwaine, you would also protect his virtues?”

Leon looks down at his plate. “ _Please_ leave me out of this.”

A sharp pain erupts beneath Arthur’s rib cage, a knife twisting into his muscle and sinew, and he feels like the floor has given out beneath him. “You think they’re _dating_?”

“ _No_ ,” Lance says quickly cuffing Elyan on the back of the head while Leon gives him an exasperated look and Elyan holds up his hands in apology, “but maybe you should just talk to _Merlin_.”

Arthur looks between his friends in alarm. “About what?” They can’t know about what happened, he hadn’t told anyone and he was fairly certain Merlin hadn’t either.

Leon scoots back and the bench scrapes loudly against the stone floor. “I can’t deal with this right now. Good luck to you lot.”

Arthur watches him go with a furrowed brow. “What was that about, do you think he’s feeling well?”

Elyan laughs into his hands and Lance shakes his head and sighs. “I worry about you sometimes Arthur.”

Arthur worries about himself sometimes.

If it didn’t mean anything, he shouldn’t be thinking about it _constantly_ , particularly because there are so many other things he _should_ be worried about. He certainly shouldn’t be staring at Merlin’s mouth while he chews on his quill in Charms. He shouldn’t be watching Merlin across the Great Hall when he eats dinner with Mordred and Will. He shouldn’t study the line of his neck as he throws his head back and laughs. And he shouldn’t feel terribly jealous that he wasn’t the _cause_ of the laugh or the one to _hear_ it.

( _But you are_ , the honest voice hisses, _so you should do something about it_.

_Definitely NOT_.)

The worst part is how much he _misses_ Merlin. He hadn’t realized how completely his entire life revolved around the other boy until he was suddenly gone.

He watches as Merlin laughs with abandon at something Gwaine says and Arthur scrapes his bench across the floor.

“Arthur,” Lance starts, back to careful and cautious and understanding. His eyes are too soft and worried and for a second Arthur is so scared that he _knows_ , knows more than Arthur would even admit himself.

Arthur shakes his head. “See you later.” And then he runs before he can condemn himself further.

\--

Merlin rolls his eyes at Gwaine. “You’re too dramatic for your own good.”

Gwaine gives him an incredibly exaggerated hurt expression that sends Merlin into peals of laughter. Gwaine cuffs him on the arm. “Feel like you’ve been upset recently.” Gwaine raises an eyebrow.

Merlin shrugs. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

Gwaine purses his lips. “Is it the Princess?”

Merlin shakes his head. “Isn’t it always.” Gwaine opens his mouth and Merlin is spared whatever wisdom the other boy wants to impart by the morning paper raining down from the owls above them.

And then his heart nearly stops when he sees the front page. 

**_The Demise of the Dragon Dynasty?_ **

_By: Morgause Gorlois_

_Weeks after Minister of Magic Uther Pendragon was admitted to St. Mungo’s Hospital, a photo of the Minister has been leaked to the public. The image (above, courtesy: anonymous) depicts Minister Pendragon lying in a private St. Mungo’s room, face ashen and waxy, skin almost translucent against the black of his shirt and the silver chain around his neck, eyes closed and breathing labored. Since Minister Pendragon has left office and been replaced by current Interim Minister Agravaine de Bois no word was given to the public as to what happened to the Minister or when he would likely return. With the appearance of this new photo, Interim Minister de Bois is breaking his silence (confused about the recent political upheaval? Subscribe to our daily newsletter for just two knuts!)._

_In a press conference held early this morning Interim Minster de Bois expressed his “outrage” and “disappointment” at the clear exploitation of Minister Pendragon. When asked for his opinions on the likelihood of Minister Pendragon’s recovering de Bois stated, “I have every confidence that my brother-in-law will return to his position in no time.” The word from St. Mungo’s contradicts this statement._

_The official diagnosis from St. Mungo’s Head Healer Iseldir Isaksson, stated in an exclusive interview, is that “[Pendragon] hasn’t been officially diagnosed with anything as we are still working on a cure” and “he seemed to be improving for a while but recently he’s made a sharp decline, as if each remedy we try has the opposite effect.”_

_With Uther Pendragon falling weaker each day and no remedy in sight many are speculating if this is the end of a controversial and politically divisive reign. In accordance with the laws currently in place Interim Minster de Bois would cede the position should Minister Pendragon not recover leaving many to wonder, will this be the last time a Pendragon holds office? Could this be the end of the dragon dynasty?_

Merlin’s eyes automatically look to the other side of the room where Arthur is storming out through the doors.

Gwaine gives a low whistle. “Looks like the de Bois is finally cleaning house.”

Merlin sees Gwaine is on an article several pages in. Merlin turns the pages with shaky hands. A series of irate pictures stare back at him as a handful of Ministry employees are escorted from the Ministry building.

Gwaine is still talking. “Department of Mysteries, Office of Magical Artifacts, Office of Protected Magical sites…I certainly see why de Bois got rid of Bayard and Olaf after they gave those interviews condemning him but it’s a bit weird he didn’t sack the head of Magical Law Enforcement.”

“What do you mean?” Merlin asks not looking up from the pictures. He’s still reeling from the corpse-like picture of Uther Pendragon.

Gwaine shrugs. “Well my father’s in politics, right? And if you want to rule with an iron fist like it seems de Bois does, then you want the people enforcing your laws at your beck and call. Hermione Granger is a bit notorious for being against such things. Why keep her and get rid of all those other people? It means he’s got different priorities.”

Merlin blinks at Gwaine. “That’s…really perceptive.”

Gwaine gives his usual disarming smile. “All part of the charm.” He leans forward. “This is why I’d be good in the club.”

Merlin gives him an appraising look. “Then what do you think his priorities are?”

Gwaine narrows his eyes. “Why are you asking?”

Merlin grins. “Consider this your interview.”

\--

Arthur doesn’t know where he’s heading until he’s in the Quidditch changing rooms. The pitch is empty with term so close to finishing. He throws off his shirt and sits with his head in his hands on one of the benches, letting the cool of the winter air chill him to his core.

This is awful, these _feelings_. Stupid Merlin. Making him feel things he didn’t want to and making everything even more unnecessarily complicated.

The door to the changing room bangs open and he stands abruptly at the noise.

The object of his thoughts stands there like a manifestation with his hair a mess and tie entirely eschew.

“Arthur!” Arthur’s stomach swoops low at the voice. Was he ever going to get used to his name on Merlin’s lips? Merlin crosses the room and nervously wrings a newspaper in his hands. “Did you see the paper?”

He hadn’t as he had left in a rather embarrassing fit of…(the word he’s looking for is jealousy but he’s not quite ready to admit it). The front page nearly knocks the wind out of him. “Gods.”

His father looks even sicker than when he last saw him, pale and sweaty and shaking. But he knows Agravaine needs him alive. And he knows Agravaine loves to play the game of politics. If this is the frontpage of a newspaper that’s owned in all but name by the Ministry of Magic after months of silence, Agravaine needs a diversion.

He looks up to see Merlin watching him nervously. “There’s more?” He says it like a question though Arthur already knows the answer.

Merlin nods and swallows, turning to a page about halfway through.

Arthur looks again and reads “Minister Shaking up the Ministry.” He looks up at Merlin who isn’t quite meeting his gaze. “Emrys?”

Merlin’s gaze snaps up to his eyes. “Hmm?” Merlin’s eyes are wide and a red flush coats his cheeks.

It takes Arthur a minute to remember his question. “Is there something important about this you were going to tell me?”

Merlin shakes his head. “Oh, erm.” He’s much more distracted than usual, likely due to the awkwardness that haunted their every move since the Incident. But Arthur is so incredibly grateful for even this uncomfortable awkward exchange he’ll take what he can get.

Merlin clears his throat. “Agravaine isn’t getting rid of the Law Enforcement officers or the law makers. He’s getting rid of people who guard _information_.” Arthur’s eyes widen as he catches on to what Merlin is saying. He watches as Merlin starts picking at the skin of his thumb. “I don’t know why you don’t like the prophecy and _you don’t need to tell me_ ,” he adds hastily. “But what if _Agravaine_ knows about the prophecy and he’s using his position as Minister to research it? The prophecy would be in the Department of Mysteries and he has full access.”

Arthur starts pacing, mentally removing himself from the situation. Merlin’s theory certainly made far more sense than the idea that his uncle suddenly had the drive to rule the Wizarding World. Agravaine liked power and wielding a magic nearly forgotten to time would make him just about the most powerful person in the Wizarding World. The position of the Minister would be a means to an end. He turns back to Merlin who quickly looks away and blushes, like he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. “That’s why he’s pushing these controversial policies. He wants to keep the people opposed to him distracted so he can look around without interference.”

Arthur stops in front of Merlin. Merlin looks at him with wide eyes and swallows. “I think it could be more than that. What if he’s using the Registration to screen for the people in the prophecy?”

Arthur shakes his head at Merlin. “Sometimes you are too wise for your own good, Emrys.” Merlin flushes. Arthur heads toward the door. “Come on, we need to find Morgana.”

“Er -- Arthur?” Merlin’s voice is rather high-pitched.

Arthur turns back in askance. “What?”

Merlin gestures toward him. “Don’t you want to put your shirt on?”

Suddenly all of Merlin’s blushing and stammering is in a new light and Arthur doesn’t even try to fight the grin that spreads across his face as he shrugs on his shirt.

\--

“We think we know what Agravaine is doing!”

“I know what’s wrong with Uther!”

Morgana stares at Merlin and Arthur over the top of the _Daily Prophet_. She felt like she’d been hit with a bolt of lightning as she looked at the front page and was just trying to figure out where she was most likely to find her brother when he and Merlin burst into the evil lair.

At least they were talking again. Their weird brooding was damaging to everyone’s mood.

“You first,” she and Arthur say at the same time. The two glare at one another refusing to concede defeat.

With a rather dramatic eye roll Merlin places his own paper before her, turned to a different article than the one she was on. “We think Agravaine is using the Registry to find the people in the prophecy.”

All the blood drains from Morgana’s face. “What makes you say that?”

“Agravaine knows about Old Magic. The charm was forged with it. He replaced anyone at the Ministry associated with guarding secrets.” Merlin shrugs. “Seems like quite the coincidence, yeah?”

“Well, you know how I feel about coincidences…” Her mind is already running through other possibilities. “What if Agravaine wants to find the Old Magic and keep it for himself? Just like those wizards did back when it was trapped originally.” The thought infuriates her. The idea that something so beautiful and enchanting would be hoarded, never to see daylight again.

Merlin looks thoughtful. “Maybe he’s going to try and thwart the prophecy, so it’s never released in the first place.” It’s possible but unlikely. Trying to stop a prophecy is incredibly stupid and near impossible, like trying to halt the hands of time. It’s difficult to barter with destiny.

Arthur looks up sharply but the anger she expects to see is instead a look of intense focus. “That day in the forest Agravaine was searching for something. What if he’s not just using his position as Minister to find it?” Morgana furrows her brow but Arthur keeps going. “Hypothetically if _you_ think I’m in the prophecy then maybe Agravaine does too.”

Merlin takes in a sharp breath. “At the manor, those men recognized you. What if they are...looking for you?”

Arthur looks over at the prophecy written on their chalkboard. “If Agravaine thinks I’m in the prophecy...maybe he thinks I have something to make it come true.” 

Morgana bites her lip. “But what does he think you have? And why wouldn’t he just...take you?” It doesn’t make sense. Especially if the prophecy _was_ about Arthur then Agravaine would need him to get the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries in the first place.

Her brother shakes his head. “I don’t know…maybe he’s hoping _we_ don’t know and doesn’t want to give too much away.” Arthur’s eyes go huge as he jumps several steps ahead of where Morgana is in his thought process. “That’s why he made himself our guardian! He wants to search through our Gringotts vaults. We don’t take over the vaults until we’re 21 so he would be in charge of them before we would.”

Merlin nods along. “Maybe that’s why he had those men at your house too. He’s going through everything owned by your family and at the Ministry all while trying to find the other people in the prophecy.” 

Morgana’s stomach drops out from inside her. “How would he do that? How would he be able to use the Registry to find people?”

Merlin shrugs. “Maybe there’s some sort of test he can do for Old Magic.”

Morgana’s pulse is roaring in her ears. “Do you think that’s possible?”

Merlin furrows his brow, studies her. She realizes she’s given too much away and tries to school her expression before he reads her down to her soul. Merlin narrows his eyes. “I wouldn’t know, you’re the resident expert seeing as your dreams stem from Old Magic.” He tilts his head to the side. “Is there something you aren’t telling us, Morgana?”

Morgana swallows suddenly not able to keep his gaze. It’s so late now, into this project and into their group. She should have told them about the fact that she could touch the magic _ages_ ago. But now she’s lied to them for so long she’s not sure they would understand. And she can’t even _touch it_ anymore. So what’s the use really?

“Yes,” she says at last, “Uther! If we can get Uther back as Minister then Agravaine won’t be able to find what he needs.” Why not take a page out of Merlin’s book and just change the subject entirely if she doesn’t want to talk about it?

Arthur comes closer but Merlin’s still looking at her with his too calculating eyes. It’s easier to keep things from Merlin when Arthur is serving as a huge distraction.

She turns the paper back to the front page. “I’ve seen this necklace before. In my Visions.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. For all he hates prophecies at least he didn’t dismiss her dreams. “You saw Agravaine use it?”

“Not quite.” Morgana chews on her lips, weighs her words. “Calliope the Centaur told me to trust my dreams and I’ve been seeing this necklace for _weeks_. I think it’s enchanted to make sure our father doesn’t get better.”

Arthur leans forward. “So we just need to remove the necklace and he’ll recover?”

Morgana nods. “I’m almost certain. The article says he was getting better and recently, probably when Agravaine met with that person in the forest, his health took a turn for the worst.” Although it was highly suspicious that the Head Healer at St. Mungo’s would share such information publicly. Nearly as suspicious as the rest of the “exclusive” interviews a certain reporter has managed to obtain over the past few months. Morgana shakes her head and goes back to the topic they are discussing. “That must be when Agravaine put the necklace on. He certainly wasn’t wearing it when we last saw him and it’s not like Uther would wear it otherwise.”

“Then all we have to do is tell St. Mungo’s,” Merlin says.

Morgana shakes her head. “It’s too risky to tell anyone else. We need to swap it out with a fake so Agravaine won’t notice. I don’t care how well trusted Gaius’s contacts are, if the Head Healer of the hospital is willing to talk to reporters then we can’t trust anyone else and besides, no one in their right mind would take jewelry off the Minister of Magic.”

Arthur crosses his arms. “I take it you know someone not in their right mind to do the job?”

Morgana grins as several ideas hit her all at once. “Well, I think I might be looking at them.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates on Thursdays? Probably.
> 
> Next Chapter Features: The power of teamwork, a minor poisoning, and the reconciliation of suppressed feelings.
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated :)


	15. Chapter 15

Professor Flitwick’s voice is high and vaguely reminiscent of a music box Merlin’s mother used to play for him when he was young. The box was the shape of a golden dragon egg and when you cracked it open dragons would fly around the room in great looping spirals. His father had purchased it before he had died. Merlin can remember her settling in by his side to read stories about dragons and castles while the music carried him off to fantastical dreams.

Merlin’s eyes are heavy, his head falling forward only for him to jerk sharply upright. He puts his elbows on his desk and peels his eyes open with his fingers. Arthur shoots him a worried look which Merlin pointedly ignores.

(He’s been doing his best to avoid looking at Arthur directly as of late. A precautionary measure that may or may not be working.)

It’s the second to last day of classes before holidays. He’s decided he’s skipping Saturday entirely this week and going to bed Friday and sleeping straight on until Sunday instead.

He’s pretty sure he hasn’t slept in three days.

(Two nights ago Lance grimaced as he took a sip from a mug that looked like a huge pile of sludge.

Merlin scrunched up his face in disgust. “What is that?”

“Dunno, Gwen made it.” Lance shrugged. 

Gwen and Arthur were clear on the other side of the evil lair transfiguring necklaces from strings and quill shafts and a dried up worm they found on one of the shelves. They were attempting to make an identical match to the one Uther Pendragon wore in the photo from the _Prophet_ all while Morgana looked over their shoulders and critiqued the various flaws in the design. (This motivational strategy appeared to work fine for Gwen but Arthur was clearly getting more and more frustrated.) 

Lance leaned closer to Merlin, over the damn near thousand of books on the table in front of them, stories about Camelot and academic articles about prophecies and a slightly crispy book depicting ancient wizarding family bloodlines. Lance and Merlin were having about as much success with figuring out what Agravaine might be looking for and solving the riddles of the prophecy as Arthur and Gwen were having with the necklace.

Lance shot a glance to the other side of the room to make sure Gwen couldn’t hear him and lowered his voice, “and to be honest, I don’t particularly want to know what’s in it, I imagine it must have a horrid recipe. But it keeps you awake.” Lance returned his gaze to the books before him.

Merlin shrugged and downed the rest of Lance’s glass with a shudder. Lance looked up as Merlin set the awful concoction down and his eyes were huge and his mouth open and Gwen shrieked, “ _Merlin_!”

Apparently you were not supposed to drink an entire glass.)

Flitwick is still chattering away. “Now Touchstones are _imperative_ to increasing the strength and longevity of charms and wards. Whereas an ordinary charm has a finite duration, a charm tied to a Touchstone will continue to exhibit its effects as long as the Touchstone is still active!” Flitwick jumps down from his podium and places a bust on the desk. “Observe.”

Merlin’s arm slips and he hits Arthur with his elbow and receives a sharp jab to the side in response along with the other boy’s trademark glower.

Things with Arthur are largely back to normal. They argued, they insulted one another, they ensured that they got top marks on all of their assignments, they worked together in illegal late night meetings to strategize how to save the Minister of Magic from a brother-in-law seeking out powerful magic to likely take over the world, typical sixteen-year old boy stuff.

Except.

Merlin is having a _bit_ of a problem. Because every time Arthur smiles at him (or looks at him or sits by him or calls him an _idiot_ ) the locusts swarm in a way that is far more reminiscent of butterflies fluttering (a development Merlin is sure must mean bad news), and his pulse thuds in his ears and his brain quite literally stops doing anything other than studying the way Arthur’s teeth catch right on the edge of his bottom lip when he’s thinking and replaying a midnight kiss he was supposed to have deleted from his memory forever.

And it’s just _awful_.

Why did it have to be _Arthur_? There are countless other attractive people in his year who are actually _nice_ to him and might even have a chance of liking him _back_ but he had to go and develop _feelings_ for _Arthur_? He has quite honestly never been more disappointed in himself.

Arthur slides him a note that reads, _you need to sleep_.

Ugh, and now Arthur is acting like he _cares_ about _Merlin_ which is so _annoying_ and not helping with these unwanted _feelings_. Merlin blinks at him in disdain before sliding the note back. _No shit_.

Arthur huffs and starts scribbling something else down.

(The “antidote” for the _enhanced_ Wide-Eye Potion that Gwen had brewed and christened a Red-Eye Potion would likely be the Draught of Living Death but the risk of permanent coma was so great that both Gwen, Merlin, and Gaius (Merlin had to grudgingly explain to him why he passed out briefly while cleaning his leech tank) decided it was best to just let the potion run its course.)

“ _Animaequiores_!” Flitwick says tapping the bust and waving his wand in complicated motions around it. Everything suddenly seems _hilarious_. The fact that Merlin can’t sleep, the fact that he has what some might describe as a _crush_ on his nemesis, the fact that he and said nemesis were going to go visit the Minister of Magic over winter holidays and Merlin thinks he’s finally lost it as he claps a hand over his mouth to keep the giggling at bay.

Then he sees Arthur is doing the same, at the table next to them Mithian and Elena are snickering at one another, and from somewhere in the back of the room Elyan and Gwaine aren’t even trying to stifle their own roaring laughter.

Flitwick looks at them with a rather manic grin and as he taps the bust again the feeling of happiness subsides.

“Who can tell me another benefit of a Touchstone?”

Mithian’s hand soars into the air before Flitwick even finishes his question and he gives her a smile. “A Touchstone allows you to unite spells that would otherwise need separate incantations. Both spells are then amplified to the same degree.”

“Excellent! Five points to Ravenclaw!” 

Merlin watches Arthur tense beside him. Ravenclaw is kicking a lot of arse this year in Quidditch and House Points and it seems like they have the House Cup victory already wrapped up despite the two remaining terms. (Slytherin is dead last seeing how many points he’s managed to lose for his House this year; Gryffindor is not far behind seeing as _Arthur_ is almost always there with Merlin when he loses those points.) Arthur is more than a little competitive and the fact that Gryffindor isn’t winning is clearly eating him alive.

Professor Flitwick does some more complicated wand movements and says, “ _Immobulus_!”

Merlin desperately wants to throw his head back and laugh but he’s frozen in place. It’s almost painful, the fact that he needs to laugh but can do nothing about it, his muscles tensed and even his breathing halted. His eyes are the only thing moving and he watches Flitwick tap the bust and suddenly he finds himself sinking in his seat in relief.

Flitwick beams at the room. “Can anyone tell me the major problem with relying on Touchstones?”

Mithian and Arthur both shoot their hands up and glare at one another in defiance. Merlin suppresses an eye roll. He’s pretty sure if he cared at all about House Points Mithian would have killed him back in first year so she could have the best marks and lead her House to victory each year. (Second year she had essentially approached him with a white flag and said she wanted to be friends. At the time Merlin had no idea they weren’t friends in the first place and needed Morgana to explain the situation to him. He’s the one who introduced Mithian to Elena so he’s fairly sure she’s forgiven him completely). He’s not sure why she hasn’t killed Arthur yet. It would certainly make Merlin’s life less complicated. Maybe he should offer her a hand.

Flitwick calls on Arthur and he gives a rather unsportsmanlike smirk in Mithian’s direction. “If all your spells are channeled through an object, then anyone could destroy that object and undo the spells.” Flitwick opens his mouth to keep lecturing but Arthur isn’t done. Merlin shakes his head at the other boy. He’s such a showoff, _ugh_ , but goddamn if Merlin doesn’t find it _endearing_. “That’s why magic with Touchstones is so difficult to achieve. The objects you choose must be able to withstand magical force for extended periods of time and the spells need to be enhanced frequently unless cast with advanced magic.”

With a fond smile Flitwick says, “took the words right out of my mouth, Mr. Pendragon! Ten points to Gryffindor.” 

Mithian and Arthur scowl at one another and Merlin watches them with rapidly narrowing tunnel vision. Very distantly he thinks the potion might finally be wearing off but before the thought gains any traction his head collides with the desk and he’s unconscious.

\--

“None of these are going to work!”

Morgana bunches up the cluster of necklaces and throws them against the wall, watching the silver rain down on to the floor.

Gwen spares her a small look of admonishment for her outburst before giving her a reassuring smile. “We’ll get there. We still have,” a grimace, “an hour until we have to leave for our night patrols.”

Morgana’s eye twitches. Despite her best efforts this year (missing countless duties, refusing to write anyone up, breaking several dozen rules herself) she has yet to be relieved of her position as prefect. When she asked Professor Gaius if he would rather she give the badge to Freya he only patted her shoulder and told her he had faith in her. She had to bite back the urge to reply, “your faith is sorely misplaced.”

It’s quite literally the last possible moment they could be doing this. It’s just Gwen and Morgana. Morgana is absurdly relieved Gwen has been included in their club as she’s missed her best friend dearly these past few months. Arthur was here helping them initially but he kept pacing the room and acting like he wasn’t worried about Merlin (despite mentioning the boy’s names at least _nine_ times) all while Gwen, Morgana, and Lance kept exchanging very knowing looks. (Merlin is currently sleeping off the effects of Gwen’s terribly impressive and potentially deadly potion. Madam Pomfrey had rather rudely asked if she should keep a bed at the ready reserved just for Morgana, Arthur, and Merlin as they had visited her so frequently.) Finally Lance, a true knight-in-shining-armor, told Arthur he had been neglecting his housemates this year and practically dragged him from the room.

Morgana runs a hand through her hair. “It’s not going to work unless it’s an _exact_ match.” They needed to be careful and precise. If Agravaine had some sort of mysterious contact in the middle of the Forbidden Forest then he surely had those loyal to him in St. Mungo’s. And while Gaius might trust his contact at the hospital, Morgana sure as hell didn’t. They needed to do everything they could to assure that he knew _nothing_.

The plan is simple. Arthur will visit St. Mungo’s the day after Christmas while Agravaine is attending the yearly gala held at the Ministry headquarters. Every Ministry employee will be in attendance (Morgana knows because Uther had made her and her brother attend with him _every year_ ) and even if Agravaine _does_ have people watching the hospital, Arthur should be able to swap out the pendant before he arrives. It’s not as though Agravaine can do anything too violent in public. And if Agravaine does show up, Arthur can just say he wanted to visit Uther.

(Only Merlin had been suspicious when she laid out the idea for them.

“You don’t want to come?” His eyes were too bright, too calculating even with potion coursing through his veins (or possibly because of it). She really needed Arthur to do something idiotic to monopolize all of Merlin’s attention again. It’s too bad _her brother_ didn’t accidentally drink the potion.

Morgana shook her head, tried to look small. It was hard to do on purpose. “Agravaine knows Uther and I don’t get along, it will be more believable if Arthur goes.” She looked up and gave him a soft look, this one far more genuine. “And _you_ need to go with him because someone needs to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” Lance and Gwen had both volunteered to tag along but Morgana had reminded them they didn’t want to be suspicious. Too many people would draw attention.

Merlin studied her for a few minutes before finally agreeing.

She relaxed slightly, hopefully not enough to be noticeable.

They didn’t need to know that she had a previous engagement to attend, not yet. They would surely try and stop her.)

Gwen hums as she twists the string before her and spins it into stunning silver. “It’s too bad my dad’s a muggle. This would certainly make his job in metal working easier.” Morgana fights down a bitter swell of jealousy. For Gwen and Elyan and their pleasant relationship with their muggle father who definitely doesn’t understand his wizard children but loves and supports them anyway. For Gwen and Arthur and seemingly everyone else in their year who could transfigure and charm things no problem while all of Morgana’s skills lie in reading the stars.

The reason she’s been so secretive about accessing Old Magic suddenly becomes so glaringly obvious. It’s not that the magic is dangerous, because she’s done plenty of dangerous things this year with Merlin and Arthur. It isn’t that she’s scared of Arthur’s reaction because he’s proven himself time and again to be capable of forgiveness regardless of how thoroughly she messes up. It isn’t even that she doesn’t _understand_ it, because she doesn’t understand the prophecy one iota but she shared that with them without any hesitation.

It’s the fact that it’s the first time she’d been good at magic, _real magic_ as her father would say, instead of the nebulous art of Divination. She was proud of her skills and greatly enjoyed the practice but a small part of her just wanted to be as good as everyone else.

But that’s not quite the whole truth either.

She didn’t want to just be like everyone else. She wanted to be better, more powerful, _special_. 

And it’s such a _petty_ reason that she finally thinks she has the courage to share the truth with someone else.

She opens her mouth to come clean about everything (accessing old magic and the loss of harnessing the power and the book burning a hole in her backpack) when she realizes Gwen is still talking. “…it would be rather convenient if we could just copy and paste the necklace off of the picture like you can on muggle computers.”

Morgana snaps her mouth shut with a click. Gwen gives her a funny look. “What did you just say?” Morgana asks.

Gwen gives a gentle smile. “I was just joking…”

But Morgana remembers a spell uttered to her earlier this year, a small rolled sheet of parchment passed into a painting and guarded by a slightly foolish knight. If you were able to put things _inside_ of portraits could you take things _out_ of them?

Morgana starts throwing around stray sheets of newspapers she’s been collecting for the past few months, with her diligent notes about the author of articles and information divulged scrawled in the margins of every page, looking for the one with her father on the cover. The people in the pictures glare at her and brace themselves against the edges of their photos as the papers sail toward the floor.

“Morgana?”

Gwen is giving her a worried look. Morgana takes a steadying breath. “Where is the paper with the necklace?”

Gwen looks around biting her lip and then slumps her shoulders and rolls her eyes as she comes to a conclusion. “Arthur must have smuggled it out.”

Morgana jumps up. “Then let’s go!”

“Go where?” Gwen calls after her but Morgana is sprinting from the room, trusting she will follow.

\--

“Arthur.” Arthur blinks at Leon’s concerned expression. “It’s your turn.”

Arthur sighs down at the board before him. It’s been a while since he’s played Wizard’s Chess and Leon is thoroughly destroying him (though Arthur suspects Leon is likely going easy on him). He sends a knight to what is likely certain death and the piece angrily growls as it moves toward its inevitable slaughter. His mind is elsewhere, a common occurrence as of late, but he’s still slightly _annoyed_ to be losing.

(It’s Merlin’s fault, it’s always Merlin’s fault. 

Merlin who monopolizes all of Arthur’s time. Merlin who is always at the forefront of Arthur’s thoughts. Merlin who assured Arthur that their shared kiss meant absolutely nothing, which is _fine_ , he definitely isn’t still thinking about it or wishing that maybe things between them were just a little different or --

Arthur’s heart had just about stopped when Merlin passed out in Charms and he carried him all the way to the infirmary. If it was up to _him_ he’d still be seated beside him in the hospital but Madam Pomfrey had kicked him out when she said it might be _days_ until he woke up, as if that would somehow make Arthur feel better about leaving him. 

Mad Woman.)

“ARTHUR!”

Morgana is tearing through the room, a few first-years diving out of her path of destruction. Gwen follows in her wake with an apologetic expression on her face, helping one of the students back on their feet.

She stops in front of him, hands on her hips, eyes wild and manic. “Where is the _Prophet_?”

Arthur looks around nervously. The entire room is staring at them (and it’s rather full as it’s the night before everyone goes home for the holidays; well everyone but him). Leon’s eyes keep darting between Morgana and Arthur. Gwaine and Elyan have stopped their game of Exploding Snap. Lance looks up from his book with a worried expression on his face. That’s not even including the _dozens_ of other students in the room openly gaping at them.

“Mor _gana_ \--“

Her gaze momentarily flickers to the board and her expression turns surprised. “Are you losing on _purpose_?”

Arthur lets out a huff of air as he watches Leon press his lips together in thinly concealed amusement. “Morgana,” Arthur says with false cheerfulness, “to what do we owe the _honor_ of your presence?”

She waves him off and holds her hand before her, palm up. “The paper.”

“Here,” Lance says from his armchair holding the paper high above his head, having confiscated it when Arthur tried to sneak up to the dorm to work on transfiguring the necklace. Arthur shoots him a glare but Lance just gives an unapologetic shrug as Gwen moves to stand by his side. _Traitor_. Anyone who said Lance was chivalrous and noble clearly didn’t know what a little shit he could be.

Morgana practically throws herself across the coffee table and scribbles something on the corner of the page. Arthur reluctantly gets up to sit on the other side of the table and feels Leon, Gwaine, and Elyan close ranks around them, blocking them from the nosy eyes of his classmates. Lance murmurs a nearly inaudible silencing charm, muffling their conversation from unwanted ears. He has one moment to be grateful before Morgana’s drawing in his attention again.

“Say this,” she commands, pointing to the unfamiliar spell she wrote.

Arthur glares at his sister. “Should we be doing this _here_?”

She glares back. “It’s not like anyone here _knows what it’s about_ ,” she hisses, too low for anyone but him to hear. “Just say the spell and tap Uther’s picture.”

Arthur gives her a hard look. “Is this from your _book_?” The book she got the recipe for the potion that nearly killed her. The book she still wouldn’t let anyone see. The book she was pretending she couldn’t remember the title of even though Arthur was willing to bet all the gold in his Gringotts vault that she had the book on her person.

Morgana is very good at keeping her secrets (a Pendragon trademark) and he knows she won’t reveal anything she doesn’t want to share.

She throws her hair over her shoulder and glares. “ _No_ , I learned it from Kilgharrah.” She raises an eyebrow. “Are his spells worthy enough for the great Arthur Pendragon?”

Gwaine leans over Arthur’s shoulder and he and Morgana look up at him. “Could you two speak up, it’s getting very hard to eavesdrop when all you do is hiss at one another.”

Morgana narrows her eyes. “I suddenly remember why I don’t frequent this room.”

Gwaine gives her a snarling smile. “It’s not as though you were invited.”

“It’s not as though I need a bloody invitation to get in.”

Arthur slides the paper across the table before Morgana and Gwaine can get any more worked up. He’s never understood why she dislikes Gwaine so much (they were more alike than either of them would ever admit). He reads the spell over a few times, turning the words over on his tongue.

He gives his sister a pained look. “You should have Merlin do it. If it’s terribly advanced magic, he’s more likely to have success,” Arthur admits grudgingly. 

(Everything in his life always seems to come back to Merlin.) 

Morgana crosses her arms. “Well he’s currently unconscious in the hospital sleeping off a potion that his scrawny body is taking ages to metabolize. Now unless the antidote is to kiss sleeping beauty awake --”

Gwaine leans forward again. “I will gladly volunteer to take one for the team and give Merlin a quick snog.”

White rage consumes Arthur’s vision as he takes in a sharp breath. Suddenly, Morgana’s hatred of Gwaine makes perfect sense. Maybe they could team up and kill him together, slowly and painfully. 

As long as Arthur gets to land the final blow.

His mind is racing through the best spells to inflict maximum pain when Gwaine doubles over in peals of painful screaming laughter and bat wings erupt from his face. Arthur wonders if he set off a few curses by accident the way Merlin can but sees Leon, Lance, and Elyan all with their wands pointed at Gwaine. At least he has a few friends he could count on, maybe they would help bury Gwaine’s body.

Leon says the counter curses and glares down at Gwaine, whose rubbing at where the bat wings once were and gasping for air. He looks from Leon to Arthur in something akin to apology. “It was a _joke_.”

Morgana snaps her fingers drawing Arthur’s attention. “As I was _saying_ ,” she continues as if nothing had interrupted her, “Merlin is out of commission so it’s got to be you. If it doesn’t work, we can all take turns and have Merlin give it a go when he wakes up.”

Arthur nods distractedly, his mind still partially planning ways to murder Gwaine. 

He taps his wand against the pale form of his father in the black and white moving photo. “ _Animatis picturae_.”

Before his eyes the picture starts rippling, as if the surface is suddenly liquid. Morgana lets out a peal of delighted laughter and then snatches the paper back, takes a deep breath, and plunges her hand _into_ the paper.

Arthur watches with his jaw slack and from his peripheral he sees Elyan wearing a similar expression as he sits down heavily next to Arthur. Morgana’s hand sinks deeper into the picture until she is nearly down to her elbow, the inky photo blurring and lapping against her pale skin.

“I’ve almost -- just a little further -- ah hah!”

Her face contorts and she gives a sharp tug and then her hand is out of the photo, a silver necklace dangling from her fingertips, and a blinding grin on her face.

On instinct Arthur taps the photo again and the surface returns to a smooth state, his father still ashen and asleep but now without the chain around his neck.

When he looks back at Morgana, she’s giving him a rather smug grin. “Never thought you’d learn a transfiguration spell from _me_ , did you?”

\--

Merlin feels a step away from reality, the colors of the world too vibrant and his limbs heavy as if stuffed with cotton, as if he might still be asleep and dreaming as he makes his way from the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey had assured him it was just a lasting effect of sleeping for such a long period of time and he’d back to himself in no time. Merlin’s not sure he believes her and would like a second opinion. 

As it turns out his wish came true and then some. He skipped Friday, Saturday, _and_ Sunday. So now it’s Christmas Eve. As he rounds the corner something strong and sturdy collides with him.

“Ooof,” he grunts, stumbling on his unsteady feet.

Hands grip his upper arms in a familiar tight grasp bunching up the fabric so he doesn’t fall. Bright blue eyes study him intently and everything goes a little fuzzy. It’s a bit disorienting when Arthur looks at him with all his attention. Arthur is also wearing a rather tight and soft looking t-shirt and trousers in lieu of his uniform and his hair is a burnished gold in the torchlight of the hall which is also a bit disorienting for similar but different reasons.

Sleep has not improved the Arthur Situation. If anything, it seems to have somehow _worsened_.

He should have waited until he felt more like himself before he left the hospital but his mother was probably pacing the length of their sitting room about to storm the castle if he didn’t show up soon. He’s not sure what Gaius told her.

“Emrys!” Arthur gives him a soft smile. Merlin consciously does his best not to look at it (he does not succeed for even a second). “I was coming to visit you.”

Butterflies flood his stomach at Arthur’s words and he sways slightly forward before he can get a grip on his actions. He stumbles again and Arthur easily keeps him upright but he’s _too close_ and the spicy, citrus smell of Arthur’s soap fills all his senses.

Merlin staggers back a few steps so he can _breathe_ and Arthur’s smile falls slightly, looking suddenly nervous. His eyes flicker over Merlin’s frame, the line appears between his brows while he tries to puzzle out how Merlin is feeling. _Good fucking luck_ , Merlin doesn’t even know how he is feeling.

(Except he sort of does. He’s feeling like if he takes even one step closer to Arthur he’s going to lose all his self-control and have to kiss him right here in the hallway which would be _madness_ because Arthur would definitely push him away and maybe punch him and probably use his family's influence to excommunicate him from the Wizarding World.

An absolutely insane part of his brain thinks it might be worth it.)

Arthur licks his lips which is _unfair_. “Do you need to go back to Madam Pomfrey?”

Merlin takes in a steadying breath. He can do this, he can get a grip on these urges and be a normal fucking person, and it’s probably-mostly-definitely a side effect from the potion anyway. “No, I was just heading to the dorm to pack.”

“ _Oh._ ” Arthur’s face falls and Merlin suddenly remembers that Morgana is spending Christmas with Gwen and Arthur has elected not to go with her or any of his other friends (for reasons Merlin hadn’t had a chance to ask before slipping into a small coma). Everyone else had probably left for the holidays since Merlin’s been asleep for so long. “Then I guess I’ll just see you in a few days --“ Arthur’s already stepping away and Merlin’s arm strikes out to grab his forearm before he even gives himself permission. He watches as his fingers wrap around Arthur’s arm and tries to ignore the feeling like fire that’s shooting through him where they touch and his magic swirling hot in his veins.

“No, please -- I don’t --“ Merlin bites his lip. The words are slow and muddled but each minute he’s awake he’s more alert and like himself. Which means it’s not his coma that’s making him flustered it’s just _Arthur_. Arthur who is looking so sad and lonely and Merlin would gladly face wyverns and evil wizards and Agravaine if it took that expression off his face.

Arthur’s gaze is locked on Merlin’s fingers on his arm and Merlin snatches his hand back. There's a charged sort of moment between them with Arthur looking at him with that disorienting expression and Merlin’s pulse thuds so loud in his ears it drowns out all his thoughts.

“Do you want to come home with me for Christmas?”

Merlin has a brief moment to wonder who said that before he realizes _he_ said it. Arthur’s expression has gone from intense to shocked and he blinks at Merlin as if he’s not sure he heard him correctly. Evidently, Merlin’s mouth isn’t done talking.

“You don’t have to, it just might be easier to get to St. Mungo’s from mine instead of me coming back here? And my mum always cooks way too much food and Gaius is there and so are a lot of the people who live in Hogshead. Granted it’s mostly retired people and families with really young children. All though that’s probably not a selling point since you likely don’t want to spend your Christmas with a bunch of old strangers and children and Kilgharrah. Kilgharrah’s always there so that would probably awkward spending Christmas with your teachers.” Arthur still hasn’t said anything, his expression blank and Merlin flushes but he can’t get his mouth to stop _talking_. “This is weird, isn’t it? Let’s just pretend I didn’t say anything. I think it’s the potion, making me stupid, well stupider, you always think I’m stupid. I’ll just see you on the 26th like we planned --”

Merlin tries to flee but now it’s Arthur’s hand on his wrist, keeping him in place and Arthur puts his hand over Merlin’s mouth.

Merlin swallows as he’s hit with another wave of that spicy citrus smell that seems to light him on fire and makes his magic sting sharp and electric just under his skin. His blood thuds in his veins loud enough that Arthur can probably hear it.

Arthur raises his eyebrows in amusement. “Are you done babbling?” Merlin nods and Arthur removes his hand from Merlin’s face. Merlin does his level best to keep his expression neutral but he knows his eyes must be huge as he tries not to shiver without Arthur’s warmth so close to him. Then Arthur smiles and Merlin wonders if he’s about to faint like some sort of Victorian maiden. “I’d love to.”

Merlin grins back and his heart is practically screaming in his chest, butterflies flooding his veins. “Alright then I’ll meet you in front of the castle in an hour?”

Arthur agrees and as Merlin makes his way to pack up his belongings and his cat he thinks this might just be the stupidest thing he’s done all year which, given all he’s done, is _really_ saying something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates on Thursdays!
> 
> Next Chapter Features: Christmas fluff (because why not), emotionally charged sleep-overs (because slow burn), and the slight bastardization of Arthurian legends for the purpose of story telling.
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated and give me life :)


	16. Chapter 16

The old wooden door sticks in its frame likely due both to age and the frost lining the cracks in the structure. It matches the icy and white world around them. Merlin plants his feet in the ankle deep snow and leans against the door with his shoulder and heaves. It gives and Merlin stumbles into a small kitchen, a wave of heat carrying the sweet smell of baking bread chases away the chill of the winter day outside. Almost reflexively, Arthur’s hands bunch into his winter coat and keep him from face-planting on the floor.

“Merlin!”

A flour dusted version of his mother sweeps him into a crushing hug the moment he crosses the threshold into their home. He had carefully steered Arthur toward and uncleared path around the inn, trudging through snow nearly up to their knees and _away_ from the main door to the back of the building so they didn’t have to face Alice (Merlin is _not_ looking forward to Alice joining them for dinner this evening, he _really_ didn’t think this through).

“ _Mum_ ,” he says, trying to extract himself from her tight embrace. She pulls back and swats him over the head with a dishtowel. “Ow.”

“What were you _thinking_?” Her fierce blue eyes are glaring intense daggers at him and for a heart-stopping moment he thinks she’s about to talk about how he snogged Arthur (although technically Arthur snogged him, but he _was_ the one who asked). “You know how dangerous unregistered potions are!” 

Oh yes, that’s right, Merlin has spent the past few days in a deep slumber.

“ _Mum_ ,” he tries again gesturing over his shoulder to where Arthur stands looking politely disinterested, hands clasped behind his back as he examines a few herbs growing on the windowsill, waiting to be addressed. There is a sprinkling of snow melting on the wool shoulders of his fine coat. “I invited Arthur for Christmas, is that alright?” 

Merlin gets another swat on the head. “ _Ow_!”

His mother turns a blinding smile on Arthur. “Arthur!” Before Merlin can stop her or warn Arthur, she’s wrapping the other boy in a tight hug. Arthur’s eyes are huge over his mother’s head and he awkwardly pats her on the back once. Merlin presses his lips together so he doesn’t burst out laughing. A befuddled Arthur is sort of adorable.

Hunith pulls back and pats Arthur’s cheek. “Of course, you are welcome for Christmas. You two can go drop off your stuff in Merlin’s room and then I hope you don’t mind but I am going to put you to work.”

Arthur looks moderately terrified by the prospect and as well he should. Peeling potatoes the muggle way is a complete nightmare.

Merlin hides another smile as he bends down to release Aithusa from her carrier.

“Merlin!” His mother halts at the door to the inn’s kitchens and levels him with a stern look. Aithusa peeks her head out of her prison. “Do not let your cat in the inn, I mean it. We are _not_ having a repeat of the pudding incident last year.”

With a rather dramatic tilt of her head, Aithusa glances at Merlin and then looks up at the ceiling and back down. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was rolling her eyes.

Merlin shrugs and his mother just rolls her eyes and gets back to cooking up enough food to feed all of Hogwarts. He nods over his shoulder for Arthur to follow him.

As they climb the rickety stairs he can’t help but remember Arthur’s house (the one he almost-maybe-sort-of burnt down) and how opulent it was and how incredibly small and cramped his home is in comparison, tucked against an equally small and cramped inn.

His bedroom is the same disaster he left it in when he returned to school. Merlin has a moment of embarrassment before Aithusa nearly knocks him over as she runs through the now open door and dives into a pile of clean laundry that was never put away.

Biting his lip, he turns to look at Arthur but the other boy is grinning as surveys the space: examining the Wizard Rock Posters on his wall, crouching beside the stack of paperbacks (that’s really more of a pile as at some point during Merlin’s absence it has caved in on itself), and studying the pictures tacked above his desk of he and various classmates from when they’ve visited over the years. Arthur’s fingers ghost along the edges of one of he and Lance when they were really young, before they even went to Hogwarts, eating ice cream and laughing as Merlin’s scoop falls off his cone with a pop and then Lance picks it up and puts it back only for the whole process to play out again, the Memories in the photo never finding the situation any less hilarious.

“I didn’t realize you’ve known Lance for so long,” Arthur says, ice blue eyes studying him, a question buried in the innocent statement somewhere Merlin’s sure. Arthur is always asking questions, Merlin’s never entirely sure why.

Merlin shrugs and heads over the huge pile of clothes to shove it deep in his wardrobe. “He visited Hogsmeade with his family one summer.” Merlin fights down a smile. “The gryphon incident.”

Arthur grins, gestures to the clothes with raised eyebrows asking if he wants help and Merlin waves him off, indicating he can sit on the equally untidy bed. “Do I finally get the story?”

Merlin pauses tossing socks deep into the cupboard to look at Arthur flipping through one of the picture books from his childhood. It feels so strange to have Arthur here, picking through the pieces of his life and getting a closer look at his soul. Even weirder that Arthur seems to be studying everything with a deep intensity, as if committing it to memory or trying to divine the stories of Merlin’s life from the well worn pages of one of his favorite childhood stories.

(Hadn’t he wanted to do the same thing to Arthur? Look through his room and make more sense of the complicated person who consumes his every waking thought? But why would Arthur want to do that with _him_?)

Merlin shakes his head as he leans against the wardrobe. “Lance and I met on the second day his family was here and I convinced him we should sneak to the edge of the forest. And then a gryphon showed up and nearly killed us.” Merlin clicks his tongue. “Doesn’t exactly paint me in the most flattering light.”

Arthur looks up from a picture of a knight fighting a dragon. (Merlin distinctly remembers being rather obsessed with the story when he was young and it was only when he was older that he realized he probably had a crush on the knight. His cheeks heat as he realizes the knight looks a bit like Arthur. Fantastic.)

Arthur tilts his head. “But you saved him, with your magic?”

They were so young he really doesn’t remember what happened. Just a sharp stinging feeling on his skin and his eyes awash in gold. It was the first time he had ever used magic that strong. It was also the first time his mum and Gaius sat him down and told him he couldn’t tell anyone about how powerful he was and that he should work on his wand magic instead of whatever he was doing instead.

It’s strange that Arthur knows and doesn’t think it’s mad or anything. He’s not sure why it was so important he keep it a secret in the first place.

Merlin shrugs and Arthur rolls his eyes as he says, “so modest.”

“Well, one of us has to be.” Arthur grins and something swoops low in Merlin’s stomach. It’s going to be a long few days. “Come on,” he says with a smirk. “The only good thing about the fact that we’re going to be spending the afternoon with my mum is that I’m sure you are going to struggle _spectacularly_ with muggle cooking.”

Arthur looks affronted so Merlin just grins wider. If he’s going to suffer these next few days he’s sure as hell bringing Arthur down with him.

\--

Arthur did not _struggle_ , but it was certainly not _easy_.

(“How do muggles do this?” He grunted as he attempted to stir a batch of dough by hand. “All the time?”

Merlin looked up forlornly from the huge stack of potatoes he was peeling. “Search me.”

Hunith laughed at the two of them and gently pried the mixing bowl from Arthur’s grasp and stirred it with ease. Astonishing, the strength on a woman so slight. “I think this just about does it,” she told Arthur with a wink. He was quietly grateful, his arms felt like they might fall off.)

Arthur hadn’t gotten a good look at the Rising Sun during his last visit. He was too worried about breaking into his home and thinking about Merlin’s magic and desperately trying to ignore the _very_ suggestive comment made by the old woman at the desk.

But now it is decorated in Christmas splendor. An enormous tree sits near the fire, covered in baubles and twinkling lights and a sea of garlands descend from the rafters and all the tables have been pushed together to make one long one. 

Merlin nudges his shoulder as they set mismatched plates on the table. “You alright?” He’s studying him with his calculating expression and it makes it difficult for Arthur to breathe. He shouldn’t have agreed to come, it was ridiculous. Leon, Lance, and Gwaine had all invited him to their homes and Elyan had extended an invitation as well since Morgana was going to be with Gwen but he didn’t want to burden them. But then Merlin asked and he was still so pale from the hospital and his hair was all messy like he just woke up and his eyes were slightly unfocused and Arthur was just so relieved he was awake he probably would have agreed to anything.

Arthur nods and watches as Aithusa takes one tentative step into the dining hall and then Merlin’s mother is there sweeping her into her arms and glaring at Merlin who doesn’t look the slightest bit sorry.

“I thought you were a cat whisperer?”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Well she only follows the orders she wants to…”

Arthur hums. “Learned that from her owner then?”

Merlin hits him with a glare and Arthur bites back a smile.

Dinner is a loud and raucous affair. Arthur recognizes many faces from around Hogsmeade, and Kilgharrah and Gaius are laughing like they are mates.

“Are they friends or something?” Arthur asks. He’s pretty sure he’s hardly ever seen the two of them interact at school.

Merlin shrugs. “Think they worked for your dad at the same time.”

Arthur blinks. “How many of my former teachers worked for my father?” And why had his father never said anything. He _definitely_ complained about how difficult Kilgharrah’s class was a fair few times. First Gaius, now Kilgharrah, he’d hardly be surprised if he learned that Trelawney read Uther Pendragon’s tea leaves each morning.

Merlin grins. “Dunno, but maybe it explains why you’re doing so well in school, all your professors feel they owe your father a favor -- _ow_! -- I’m just joking! _Prat_.”

There are just as many strangers in attendance (and as Merlin had warned all of them are fairly old though there seems to also be a never ending string of small children arriving as well) but all of them greet Arthur with smiles and no one says anything about his father or uncle. For once in his life he’s not introduced as _Arthur, Uther Pendragon's son_ but instead just as _Arthur_.

(Technically he’s introduced as _Arthur, Merlin’s friend_ which is far more pleasant than having his father as his identifier. Anytime the older woman, Alice, is the one doing the introductions Arthur tries very hard not to let himself blush her suggestive tone and overly exaggerated wink.)

Arthur sits beside Merlin and mostly politely listens. But it's much nicer than most of the Christmas dinners he usually attends. Children spilling a myriad of drinks is far better than stiff uncomfortable conversations with politicians all trying to use him to gain his father’s favor.

The meal passes in a jovial blur of rotating dishes and reminiscing stories that Arthur can’t really relate to but there’s something nice about just sitting back and observing. As the food slowly disappears, the younger children begin squirming in their chairs and harrassing Kilgharrah and Gaius for a story.

Arthur lowers his voice and leans close to Merlin. “I never thought Kilgharrah would be good with kids. Thought he’d...terrify them.”

(Arthur is not too proud to admit that Kilgharrah terrifies him a bit as well.)

Merlin snorts loudly into his pumpkin juice but isn’t heard over the clatter of children racing around the table to shout into Gaius’ face. “It’s probably just because they mistake him for Santa Claus.” Arthur sputters into his drink.

“Oh come on Eldridge!” An older woman with gray fly-away hair says. “Give the kids a story so we can all head home.”

Arthur looks at Merlin with a furrowed brow. “Who’s Eldrige?”

Merlin’s eyebrows raise comically high. “...Gaius?”

Arthur feels his jaw drop in shock. “What?”

Merlin presses his lips together like he’s trying very hard not to laugh. “Did you think he just had the one name?” That is _exactly_ what Arthur thought but he’s not going to give Merlin the satisfaction of knowing that. “He just hates it, so he goes by his surname. It’s like Hagrid,” Merlin adds with a wave of his hand. Arthur’s face goes even more surprised. Merlin sets his drink down and studies Arthur. “I can’t tell if you’re having me on...you do know that our professors have lives outside of teaching, right?” Arthur hits his shoulder into Merlin’s who stifles his laughter once more.

 _Eldrige_ heaves a sigh and motions to Kilgharrah. “I believe this year it’s your turn.”

Kilgharrah magnanimously inclines his head in defeat. “Then what story would you like to hear?”

A chorus of requests erupts around the table from the children.

“Babbity Rabbity!”

“The Questing Beast against the Great Merlin!”

“Circe turning men to swine!”

“The dragon and the unicorn!”

“The wizard tree!”

Kilgharrah smiles (a rather unsettling smile as Arthur is not sure he’s ever seen) and holds up a hand in amusement. “How would you like to hear a story you’ve never heard before.”

A pudgy boy at the end of the table crosses his arms and studies Kilgharrah suspiciously. “How do we know it’s going to be a good story?”

“That’s the thing about stories. You get to decide which ones are worth sharing.”

All the children lean forward on the table, eyes bright and excited and Arthur finds himself getting swept up in the anticipation as well. He does not notice Gaius’ admonishing look when Kilgharrah clears his throat to get the table’s complete attention.

“Today I think we should hear a story about a sword. The Legend of Excalibur.”

\--

No one knows where the sword came from, though there are many legends. In the Kingdom of Camelot --

(“Hah! I knew he’d tell a story about Merlin!” “Shut up and _listen_!” “ _Girls_!” “...sorry mum.”)

As I was saying, the Kingdom of Camelot stood as a beacon of peace and hope for magical beings of the land. But it wasn’t always that way. It took the work of the most powerful warlock the world has known and a just and true King. Many of you are familiar with the stories of the warlock, but we rarely discuss the other side of the coin: King Arthur.

(“Yeah…’cause he’s a muggle. Won’t those stories just be _boring_?” “Maybe if you would stop talking we could find out!” “ _Girls_!” “....sorry mum!”)

Now, King Arthur’s sword wasn’t an ordinary sword and muggles have many theories about where it came from. Some believe it was forged on the Isle of Avalon, some think it was given to him by the Lady of the Lake, others say it appeared overnight, right in the center of a courtyard already buried deep within a stone.

But in our story, it is a gift.

When Arthur was just a prince, magic was illegal in Camelot.

(“ _Illegal_?! Why would it be illegal? It’s the most famous magical kingdom that ever existed!”)

It was illegal for the same reasons we keep magic a secret to this day: people fear that which they do not understand. And the muggles of that time were incredibly suspicious of sorcery to the point it was punishable by dea -- oh, don’t give me that look -- well, erm, it was punishable.

(“Is this really the most appropriate story to be telling children, Kilgharrah?” “We want to hear it!” “Yeah, we can handle it!” “I wasn’t even scared when he told the story of the Headless Horseman on Halloween!”)

So sorcery was illegal and Arthur’s father feared it more than anything in the world. And this fear corrupted him into a blinding hatred that poisoned the land. Wizards went into hiding as they were seen as evil.

(“And King Arthur _believed_ this? He thought magic people were _evil_ and yet the muggles worship him like he was some great king?”)

You have to realize that was all he ever knew. There was a time, not too long ago, when Shapeshifters had a similar reputation in the Wizarding Community. Imagine growing up and only hearing scary stories about Werewolves and Bastets and Selkies and never knowing that they were simply people just like you or I.

(“I thought this story was about a _sword_ ?” “Perhaps if all of you stopped interrupting, he could get to that part.” “... _sorry_.”)

The Merlin we all know from the legends, the almighty sorcerer who served as Council to the Round Table, didn’t start out in such a prestigious role. In fact, when he arrived in Camelot he had to hide his magic as it was against the law. He worked as manservant to Prince Arthur.

(“A servant?! Like a _house elf_?!” “Why would he be a servant when he could just take over the Kingdom?” “Yeah, and how would Arthur not notice he has magic if he’s the greatest sorcerer of all time? Wouldn’t magic just be constantly pouring out of him?”)

Remember, this is a story, you get to decide whether or not it holds merit.

During his time in Arthur’s service Merlin discovered it was his destiny to protect the soon-to-be-king for together, they would herald in an age of peace and prosperity for Camelot and bring magic back to the land. At first, he and the prince did not get along. Merlin thought Arthur to be as arrogant as most nobility and Arthur thought Merlin to be a bit incompetent but through their adventures fighting monsters and going on quests, a powerful friendship was forged. And as Arthur met the people of his Kingdom, those affected by magic and others who even possessed it, he began to realize that perhaps magic was not evil after all. And one of Arthur’s very first acts as King was to make magic legal in Camelot once more. After this, Merlin, his most trusted confidant and truest friend, confessed that he possessed magic and was appointed magical advisor to the king.

Though magical beings were freed, there was not yet peace throughout the land. The Kingdom of Camelot had many enemies and there were constantly those attacking and hoping to conquer the Kingdom for themselves. Merlin realized the Kingdom needed more protection than just knights. It needed a magical ward and the King needed a special weapon.

So Merlin ventured far and wide. He sought out the greatest swordsmith in the land and had him create a sword, perfectly balanced and sharper than any weapon before it.

(“Excalibur!” “ _Obviously_!” “Will you two be _quiet_!”)

He traveled to the top of the tallest mountain to speak with the most powerful dragon in the land and had him breathe fire into the sword bringing it to life and enchanting it so it could fell any magical beast.

(“Wicked.”)

And then Merlin walked into the courtyard of the castle, all eyes on him, and invoked a magic as Old as Time. With a sharp flash of lightning and warlike cry, the word sank deep into a stone.

(“What did he _do_?”)

He created a magical contract, that only the true and rightful ruler of Camelot could pull the sword from the stone. They must be pure of heart, steadfast in their courage, and willing to hold magic close to the heart of Camelot.

(“And King Arthur pulled out the sword?”)

Indeed he did.

(“And that’s the sword that killed Morgan le Fay?”)

Yes and for the rest of Arthur’s days he kept the sword at his side for as long as the King carried the sword with him, Camelot could not be taken.

(“But Camelot’s gone, so what happened?”)

King Arthur, legend though he may be, was only human and he died. There are different stories about how this happened and whether or not he returned, but when he was gone the magical contract was broken. The King was no longer around to defend the presence of magic with his sword. 

The Great Warlock Merlin returned the sword to the stone but no other being was ever able to free it.

(“But...where is the sword now?”)

No one is quite sure what happened. All we know is that one day, very close to the end of Merlin’s life, he vanished in the night and along with him so did the sword. When he returned he refused to speak of the sword and passed before he shared its whereabouts.

(“But someone has to have an idea where it is...there’s a million books on Merlin!”)

Of course there are stories. Some say it's in the middle of a forgotten wood buried deep in a boulder, waiting for the king to return and free it once more. Others say it returned to the Lady of Lake, who protects it and waits for Arthur’s arrival to give it back. Most believe the warlock left it somewhere in Camelot, but legend has it that Merlin hid it so only he can find it.

Until it is found the stone sits empty and the magic protecting the land runs free until the return of the King and the Warlock. 

Or at least, that’s how the story goes.

\--

Merlin knew the easy feeling of the visit couldn’t last, the banter at dinner and teasing Arthur about being overly polite and watching Arthur listen to Kilgharrah’s story with rapt attention was all too good to last.

Merlin grits his teeth and says, “quit being so _pigheaded_.”

Arthur crosses his arms and glares at Merlin from across his room. “ _You_ quit being so difficult.”

Merlin runs both hands through his hair. “I’m not arguing with you anymore!” It is easily the stupidest argument they’ve ever had which is really saying something because the bar is quite spectacularly low. “Take the damn bed!”

The two of them stand on either side of Merlin’s bed glaring at one another. Merlin has his arms laden with a sleeping bag and blankets, fully prepared for a camp-out on the floor and for some reason Arthur is throwing an absolute _fit_.

“It’s rude to take your bed, I’ll just sleep on the floor.” Arthur is noble about the _stupidest_ things and it makes Merlin want to smack him and snog him in equal measures.

It’s time to take drastic measures. “ _Arthur_ ,” Merlin emphasizes the name and watches as Arthur untenses slightly. Merlin’s not sure if Arthur even realizes how anytime Merlin says his name he can pretty much get anything he wants. He’s certainly not about to point it out as it is the only true offense he has against the other boy. “My mother will kill me if I make you sleep on the floor. Because it’s rude to do that to guests. And you are a guest. And if you are so worried about being a _respectful_ guest then know that you will greatly offend my mother if you do not take advantage of our hospitality. So please just take the ruddy bed so we can go to sleep.”

Arthur glares for a few more minutes before finally relenting. “Fine.”

Merlin hastily makes his bed on the ground and turns down the oil lamp snuffing the room in darkness. He feels the familiar bundle of Aithusa kneading the blankets next to him until the nest is to her satisfaction and curls up in a ball by his side.

He can hear Arthur’s breathing and he doesn’t know if he’s asleep yet. He wants to ask him if he’s alright, he had no idea Kilgharrah would tell a story about _Camelot_ , a rather sensitive subject as of late (he is very grateful everyone was tactful enough not to mention the situation at the Ministry) but he’s not sure his inquiries would be welcome.

“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice is deep and low and incredibly intimate in the dark of his bedroom.

“Hmm?” He cringes at how high-pitched his own voice sounds.

“What’d’you think of the story?”

Merlin rolls over to stare at the messy space beneath his bed, carefully weighing his answer, knowing full well Arthur’s feelings about prophecies and stories of Camelot. “I reckon it was a good story.”

“You don’t think it’s real?”

“I think it would be quite impressive if Kilgharrah somehow was the only person who knew the truth about the legends of Camelot.” Arthur huffs a small laugh which makes Merlin relax slightly. “Although if King Arthur really was a bit of an arsehole then maybe you _could_ be him reincarnated.” A pillow flies over the bed and hits him square in the chest but he doesn’t stop his snickering.

“Then you don’t think it’s real?”

Merlin sighs and rolls back over to stare above him, he thought Arthur would just accept his joke at face value, not try to search for a deeper meaning. It’s a topic Arthur hasn’t brought up since Morgana broached it in the evil lair several weeks ago. “The prophecy or reincarnation?”

He hears Arthur move around from the bed, adjusting his pillows now that he has sacrificed one to annoy Merlin. “I suppose both.”

It’s easier for some reason in the dark of his bedroom. Arthur seems less defensive and stubborn and Merlin feels himself wanting to be more honest. “I think even if they are real, they sort of don’t matter.”

“What’d’you mean?” Arthur’s voice is a soft rumble, his careful and polished enunciation reduced to a slur of sleepiness, and it makes Merlin smile.

“Well, everything we know about prophecies means they are going to come true no matter what you do. So why spend time worrying about it and instead focus on living the kind of life you want to live? That’s not to say I don’t think what we’re doing with Morgana’s prophecy is a waste of time, I just mean -- let’s say -- _hypothetically!_ \-- the prophecy _is_ about you, then it’s going to happen no matter what. So I think solving it would be dead useful so you know what’s coming but spending all your time trying to stop it or change it or _worrying_ is just going to drive you mad because in the end, it’s going to happen anyway.”

There’s a long pause where it feels like Arthur is contemplating his words. “And...reincarnation?” He says it with a hint of disgust, and if he closes his eyes he can picture Arthur’s exact sneer as he says the word.

Merlin chews on his lip as he tries to figure out how to answer. It’s not a topic he’s given a lot of thought. “I just think it’s important to be held accountable for your actions, right? So even if reincarnation is real and all of our souls are recycled through time which is an interesting and beautiful notion, it kind of doesn’t mean anything because it’s not like we remember. If the point was to learn and grow from all our past lives then I suppose it would hold more merit. But if we _are_ all reincarnated, no one _remembers_ so we aren’t becoming better people based on past mistakes so...what’s the point of knowing if it's not going to change your present life?”

This time the silence is so long that Merlin is convinced Arthur fell asleep while he was talking. But then the low rumble of his voice sounds again. “Your wisdom never fails to astonish me, Emrys.”

Merlin smiles and shakes his head, even though Arthur can’t see it. “I keep telling you I have _many_ talents.”

Arthur hums, a low note. “I wouldn’t say many.” A beat. “Thank you.”

Merlin blinks several times at the dark wood of his ceiling at the abrupt change of subject. “For what?”

Arthur makes a noise that might be a laugh or might be a huff of annoyance. It’s harder to read him in the dark, without the facial expressions that Merlin has come to know so well. “For inviting me.”

Merlin swallows. “Oh, well don’t mention. I just -- no one should spend Christmas alone.” He pauses, before adding. “And that’s what friends are for.”

It’s quiet for several moments and Merlin thinks that Arthur fell asleep and he should probably get to sleep too seeing as he really isn’t fully recovered from that stint with the potion when Arthur says, “I’ve never had a friend like you before.”

The statement catches Merlin off-guard, makes his heart race and his mind starts playing dozens of scenarios each less likely than the one before it. “Annoying?” he asks, trying to put them back on more neutral ground. A teasing Arthur he can deal with, an Arthur that bares his soul seems dangerous, _is dangerous_ as it makes Merlin’s pulse thud and heart flutter.

Arthur huffs a small laugh. “Well, yes, but I just mean...I suppose a _close_ friend.” He hears the bed creak as Arthur rolls over, he can picture him on his side, staring out the windows just above where Merlin is laying. “My Housemates are great but they all have someone else they’re closer to. Gwaine has Elyan and Leon’s always been closer with the boys in the year above us and Lance makes friends as easy as people breathe air. We’ve always got on but it feels like there’s this...space between them and me and I never knew how to bridge it.”

Merlin bites his lip, swallows, debates with himself for several moments before saying, “Well, I’m glad you don’t feel that way about me.”

It’s quiet, so quiet for so long that Merlin nearly suffocates himself under the pillow Arthur threw at him for saying something so cheesy, so _intimate_ , that he fears Arthur may know exactly how Merlin actually feels about him. But finally he hears Arthur say, “me too.”

Merlin smiles, too big for such a small statement and is very thankful Arthur can’t see him. “For the record, I’m really glad you don’t hate me anymore.”

Arthur lets out his bark of a laugh and Merlin’s magic sings in his veins. “For the record...I don’t think I ever really hated you.”

It’s Merlin’s turn to whisper, “me either.”

Arthur hums, a small pleased sleepy noise. “G’night, Merlin.”

Merlin’s pulse thuds in his ears. He swallows. “‘Night, Arthur.”

\--

Arthur would never say so to Merlin, but the Christmas spent at the Emrys’ is easily the best Christmas of his entire life.

He and Merlin wake up early with the sun (Merlin looking significantly less sickly than he had the day before). Arthur joins Merlin on the floor as he’s already ripping through all the packages at the foot of the bed (Aithusa is also enjoying the festivities as she bats the wads of paper across the floor).

Arthur receives a rather impressive haul. He gets a Quidditch book (from Leon), a broomstick polishing kit (from Lance), a box from Weasley Wizard Wheezes (a joint gift from Elyan and Gwaine), a book on the history of the goblin rebellion (Morgana’s note reads “try not to get any paper cuts from how quickly you will inevitably read this. Happy Christmas, nerd.”), and a handmade scarf in Gryffindor colors from Merlin’s mother (“I can’t accept this.” “Arthur, we already had a discussion about what it means to be a good house guest.” “How did she make it so fast?” “She probably did it while she had _me_ peeling all those ruddy potatoes.”).

Merlin gets a similar number of presence although his pile is full of far more oddities (Arthur sort of wishes Morgana were here as Merlin’s pile is significantly more nerdy with all the potion ingredients, school supplies, and even a _day planner_. All of which Merlin seems equally thrilled about.) Merlin pops open one box and holds up a watch with a midnight blue face and a thick leather band that shimmers as if glowing in the sun, the light coming off it shining on Merlin’s face, dousing him in a golden spotlight.

“From your mum?” Arthur desperately needs to know who gave it to Merlin as it seems like a rather _personal_ and _intimate_ gift and the tense coil that sits in Arthur’s chest constricts.

Merlin shakes his head as he puts it on. “Nah, we aren’t really big on presents. She got me a scarf, same as you.” Merlin grabs a green and silver striped scarf off the floor and wraps it around his neck. “This is from Will and Mordred. I think it’s their way of apologizing for sort of being arseholes after the whole Forbidden Forest incident. I broke my watch.”

The coil unloosens slightly but is quickly replaced by guilt. “Sorry.”

Merlin grabs a wad of packaging paper and chucks it at him. “Arthur! Quit being so apologetic it’s _weird_.” Merlin is grinning and Arthur can’t stop his own grin that spreads across his face. “Listen, I chose to follow you, yeah? So let’s just say we’re both idiots.”

“Yeah, alright.”

Merlin nods, looking rather pleased with himself. “Glad we established that, Morgana will be thrilled to hear it. Let’s go get breakfast.”

Merlin jumps up when Arthur remembers the parcel in his bag. “Wait!” Merlin stops at the door and raises his eyebrows in question. Arthur grabs the small box and fiddles with the package watching as Merlin’s eyes go huge.

“Arthur, I didn’t get you anything.”

“No -- it’s fine -- I don’t care about that anyway -- and --” why is he stammering like a schoolgirl? He shakes his head, thrusting the box toward Merlin. “And it’s for Aithusa.”

Merlin blinks down at the box, holding it in his hands like it’s something precious, and then looks up at Arthur with his eyes still huge. He smiles a soft smile that nearly makes Arthur’s knees give out. “You got a gift for my _cat_?”

Arthur feels his face flush. “I’m sorry -- this is weird, isn’t it? I just -- you said she was always running off and that she needs more entertainment and I saw this when I was shopping for Morgana and --” he’s babbling but he can’t seem to stop. “It’s just a toy that transfigures into different things for her to hunt, it’s not anything special -- I’m sorry, I’ll take it back --”

Before he knows what’s happening Merlin has thrown himself across the room and is hugging Arthur tight. It takes Arthur’s brain a few seconds to start up again but then he tentatively wraps his arms around Merlin.

(The annoying voice in his mind helpfully points out how well Merlin fits in his embrace, with their bodies pressed together, and how Arthur should probably do something to make sure it happens again, preferably all the time.)

It’s over too soon but Merlin doesn’t go far, just takes a tiny step back and studies Arthur with an expression that he can’t name but makes all his blood rush to his head and makes him dizzy. Arthur swallows.

Merlin shakes his head and smiles down at the box. “Thought we just established that you’re supposed to stop apologizing.” His long fingers deftly open the package and a small hummingbird sized creature zooms out. They both watch as Aithusa looks up from the paper she has been batting across the floor and stares at the creature with huge eyes, leaping into the air, and swiping it to the floor with her paw.

Arthur looks back at Merlin to find him studying him again. “Thank you.” Arthur nods and tries to smile something close to normal not showing whatever is currently buzzing through his veins. Merlin gives him a blinding smile that knocks the wind right out of him. “Alright, come on. If we take any longer, mum’s going to start giving away the food to the neighborhood children. And after breakfast I believe we have a bit of a spy mission to plan.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The tentative plan is for TWO updates next week as long as I can get them edited.
> 
> Next Chapter Features: A St. Mungo's heist and a bit of blackmail
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of people read fanfic as a distraction from current events (I'm certainly writing a lot of it) so without getting too specific I just want to say I hope that all of you and your loved ones are staying safe and I am wishing everyone all the best.
> 
> Stay safe, stay home (if you can), and be kind.
> 
> Also just a warning that this chapter does feature a (wizard) hospital, description of an ill Uther Pendragon, and minor violence and blood for anyone currently avoiding fics of this nature.
> 
> Now, to St. Mungo's:

The Welcome Witch seated at the front desk of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries is rather poorly named in Arthur’s opinion. 

The annoyed looking witch sits behind the sleek white desk, long fingernails turning the pages of a paperback novel featuring a woman in a tight bodice and a shirtless man with very long hair on the cover. She hasn’t looked up at them once, though she has popped several impressively large bubbles with her gum.

Arthur takes a steadying breath as he often does when dealing with Morgana. “Can you _please_ just grant us Visitors' Passes?” He asks for what had to be the nineteenth time.

The witch flips a page in her romance novel and chomps her gum loudly several times. “Fill out the guest book.”

Merlin squeezes his arm once in warning. He shakes his head as if to say Arthur is being a prat and slides the book down the counter to fill out the appropriate information. He’s not sure when he and Merlin have started with this silent communication but rather than thinking about it too closely he takes a look around the lobby.

The Wizard Hospital looks as white and sterile as it did during his last visit, the air somehow stale despite the earthy smell of cultivating herbs and brewing potions. It’s even less welcoming than the hospital ward at Hogwarts. Fortunately the lobby is nearly empty, unlike last time when it was overflowing with reporters and the flashing of cameras. Only three people sit in the waiting area. A man shudders violently in the corner by himself with a patchwork, fraying cloak pulled tight around his shoulders as he scratches rather furiously at his arms (probably dragon pox). The other two wizards are sat in the opposite corner, a young mother and her son. Each time the boy sneezes he goes entirely invisible until he sneezes again and returns to the material world. The mother clicks her tongue each time he vanishes. It reminds him a bit of Hunith and how she treats Merlin with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. Though Arthur has learned that’s how most people treat Merlin.

(Hunith was significantly more accommodating to their travels when they asked her in advance. When Merlin went to seek permission to use the Floo he had instructed Arthur to wait in the doorway and “look sad.”

Arthur hit Merlin. “I am not going to emotionally manipulate your mother!”

Merlin scowled. “It’s not emotional manipulation it’s…” he gestured vaguely, “evidence to support our case. You’re sad because you haven’t seen your father, ergo _we_ get the green light for the visit.”

“You are a criminal mastermind.” No wonder he and Morgana got on like a house on fire.

“I take that as a compliment.”

The worst part was that Arthur ended up agreeing to it and it _worked_.)

Merlin taps him with a hippogriff feather quill attached to a beaded chain binding it to the desk. Merlin’s smile is small and mischievous. “Your turn, prat.”

Ignoring the odd, fluttery sort of sensation Merlin’s smile has ignited in his stomach (it’s _really_ not the time), Arthur rolls his eyes but signs in the same way Merlin did (Arthur Pendragon, 16, student, visiting Uther Pendragon). He sets the book back on the counter with a thud but the Welcome Witch acts as if she hasn’t heard him, instead dropping her jaw at the scene she’s reading and clutching a hand to her chest. He shoots Merlin a look asking, _can I be a prat now?_

A clock dings behind her, spitting out a small piece of paper, and she scoots her chair backwards, grabs the piece of parchment all while never taking her eyes off the book.

“Barnes, Charles? Head on up to the third floor, second room on your right.”

Arthur watches as the mother and her son rush into the swinging doors just to the left of the desk. Only the man furiously scratching his arms remains in the lobby. Arthur waits a few moments before clearing his throat. “Er -- may we go up?”

The Welcome Witch chomps her gum and with an annoyed sigh grabs the guest book. As she reads their information her eyes bug out of their sockets and the bubble pops all over her face. 

After she peels the gum off her skin she looks up with her dark brown eyes too wide and knowing and alert. Arthur can’t help but feel as though she sees his family situation as one of the dramatic novels she’s clearly so fond of. She shakes her head as if upset by the turn of events and says, “I’ve got strict orders not to let anyone up but family.”

Arthur furrows his brow. “Well, I’m his son…”

The Welcome Witch blows out a gust of air, rumbling her lips as if she thinks _Arthur_ is the one being stupid. Her eyes flick over to Merlin. “But _he_ can’t go. Family only.” Arthur’s heart sinks. He and Merlin share a few long looks and a silent conversation all while the Welcome Witch watches them with rapt scrutiny. Arthur thinks he prefers her studiously ignoring them.

_I’ll just go by myself_.

Merlin gives an eye roll. _Don’t be an idiot. The whole point of me being here is so that you aren’t by yourself._

Arthur raises an eyebrow and shrugs his shoulders. _Well do you have any great ideas you’d like to share, Emrys?_

Merlin narrows his eyes and gestures vaguely at the desk. _Why don’t you use some of that trademark Pendragon charm I’ve heard so much about?_ He gives a scowl. _Though I’m fairly certain it doesn’t exist._

The Welcome Witch is watching the two of them with a troubling intensity. Arthur leans across the counter and gives his most disarming smile. “ _Please_ , can you make an exception?”

It doesn’t work. Instead, the witch loudly chomps her gum, her eyes flicking between the two of them and her romance novel as if wondering how difficult they are going to be to get rid of now that she’s told them ‘no.’ 

And then Arthur gets an idea that is so horrendously _stupid_ it would give Merlin a run for his money.

He spares one look at Merlin who just nods as if to say he should try anything. Arthur’s fairly certain Merlin is going to live to regret that decision. He’s almost certain he’s going to.

Bracing himself for the worst, Arthur leans closer over the desk, gives his most imploring expression, and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “It’s just -- it’s _Christmas_ and I haven’t seen my father in _months_ and I _really_ wanted to introduce him to my boyfriend.”

The Welcome Witch’s eyes light up as she snaps her gaze to Merlin who turns to look behind him as if expecting to see someone else waiting there. When he spins back around Arthur sees the exact moment Merlin realizes what Arthur meant as his eyes go enormous, his mouth goes agape, and his face flushes red. Arthur silently wills him to play along although Arthur is sure his own face has to be pretty red at this point.

The Welcome Witch puts a hand over her heart (the same way she did when she was reading her book) as she looks between them. “That is so _sweet_. You two are _such_ an adorable couple.” Arthur winces and can't look over at Merlin. The witch looks around to make sure no one’s watching. “I think we can make an exception, just this once,” she adds with a wink. “Fourth floor, Digby Donohugh Ward, room 4C.”

Arthur thanks her and grabs Merlin’s hand, dragging him through the double doors and into the hospital proper.

“What the _hell_ \--”

Arthur turns to glare, “just _shut up_. And quit making that stupid, surprised expression.”

Merlin drops his jaw. “Excuse you!” Several Healers and patients milling about turn to look at them. “Is that anyway to talk to your _boyfriend_?” Merlin's eyes are too bright and dancing and dammit if Arthur doesn’t want to wipe that expression right off his face.

(He wants to do something rather specific to get the expression off Merlin's face, but he pulls the emergency break on that train of thought before it gains too much momentum and it careens clear off the tracks, taking the last vestiges or his common sense with it.)

“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur warns, jaw clenched. “ _Please_ , can we just _go_.”

Merlin is still looking too amused but says, “yeah alright.” They walk up the first flight of stairs in blessed silence before Merlin cracks. “That was your first idea?” There’s a grin in his voice.

Arthur huffs a breath of air. “Well it worked didn’t it?” He snaps.

“Yeah,” Merlin’s voice has gone soft and small and he’s biting his lip and studying the stairs. Arthur panics. Did Merlin think it was weird that Arthur lied about them being a couple and was it going to be different between them now? Now that Arthur finally felt like he was actually starting to get to know Merlin and they had both even admitted to being _friends_? Merlin had certainly made it clear _plenty_ of times that he wasn’t interested in Arthur _romantically_ (which Arthur wasn’t taking personally at all).

“Hey.” Arthur stops and puts his hand on Merlin’s arm. “I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable -- it’s not -- it wasn’t _real_.” The words feel strangely familiar and he realizes Merlin said the same thing after they got caught by Filch.

Merlin swallows and adopts a rather pained smile. Gods is the idea of being Arthur’s fake boyfriend really so terrible? “It’s fine, Pendragon.” The use of his last name makes Arthur nearly miss the next step. It feels like Merlin is building walls between them, reverting them to how their relationship was several months ago, and Arthur has no idea _why_. Merlin knocks into his shoulder and starts climbing the stairs. “But I’ll have you know I fully expect you to buy me dinner when we leave.” His voice is teasing and more like himself but Arthur can’t help but feel like he’s missed something, _Something Important_ , something that Merlin won’t bring up on his own for anything.

Arthur trudges up the stairs after him, giving a short fake laugh, putting them back on their usual ground. “Sure thing, Emrys.”

At the top of the stairs Merlin stops and turns to Arthur with a smirk. “And you should know, I don’t put out on the first date.”

Arthur’s foot misses the next step entirely and Merlin’s laughter echoes around him in the stairwell.

\--

The streets of Diagon Alley are busy and bustling with Boxing Day sales and Christmas gift returns. Morgana shoulders her way through a family of what has to be _one hundred_ children under the age of five before emerging winded with Gwen on her side, their purchases rather crinkled in their paper bags, their pockets jingling with the money they picked up from Gringotts.

“Children should be illegal,” Morgana grumbles. Gwen snorts a laugh. “Come on, we need to hurry.”

But Gwen isn’t moving and Morgana turns to her with a glare. Gwen crosses her arms, the bags she’s carrying hitting one another, crumpling them further. “Why would we need to hurry if we’re just here for shopping?” Morgana does her best not to look guilty. Judging by Gwen’s arm swinging to hit her with three bags, she probably doesn’t succeed. “Is this about the ruddy _club_?” When Morgana doesn’t answer Gwen’s eyes go huge and she swings for her again.

“ _Ow_ ,” Morgana says.

Gwen looks like she might hit her again. “ _This is why you didn’t want to go to St. Mungo’s_!” Ugh, why did all of Morgana’s friends have to be so smart? She might need to adopt Will as her new best friend solely so she could keep some secrets. Gwen groans. “Where are we really going?”

Morgana adjusts her own bags. “We really are going to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch, we’re just...meeting someone.”

Gwen’s jaw drops. “Who on earth are we meeting?”

Morgana bites her lip. “Morgause Gorlois.”

Gwen’s mouth somehow goes more agape. “That horrid reporter who used to write those awful articles for _Witch Weekly_? She said Professor Potter was ‘disturbed’ and that Professor Gaius was 'going senile!'" 

It was true that Morgause did get her career started in the tabloids but since she made the jump to the _Prophet_ , she’s the only reporter that’s been covering Agravaine’s activities. Morgana wants information and she’s fairly certain Morgause can get it for her.

Glancing down at her watch she looks back at Gwen with huge eyes. “I thought you wanted to be included.”

Morgana narrowly avoids being hit again. “Yes, by you telling me things!” Gwen shakes her head. “You are _impossible_. You bloody Pendragons!” After several moments of what appears to be an intense battle within herself Gwen sighs and drops her shoulders from her fighting stance. “Let’s go.”

Morgana smiles. “You’re coming?”

“Well I can’t very well have you go by yourself seeing as your decision making skills have never been worse.”

Morgana lets out a large breath. “There is one more thing you might want to know before you agree.”

Gwen scrunches her face up. “And what’s that?”

Morgana gives an innocent smile. “I plan on blackmailing her.”

Gwen moans loudly and puts her face in her hands. “I don’t understand why we’re friends.”

\--

The long term residence ward of St. Mungo’s is nearly silent as Arthur and Merlin make their way down the hall, a stark contrast to the bustling noise of the ground floor. Though neither of them have their wands drawn, Arthur knows they are both white knuckling them in their pockets. The closer they get to 4C the more nauseous Arthur is feeling.

Arthur doesn’t know what he had been expecting waiting for them outside the door to his father’s hospital room. Definitely armored guards like something out of a muggle action movie or at the very least some sort of wizard standing there to make sure people can’t just waltz in. But evidently the only line of defence Agravaine saw fit to include was the rather annoying Welcome Witch at the front desk (honestly given how difficult she was to deal with, it’s not a bad defense strategy).

Merlin gives him a nod when they reach the door. And his quiet, unwavering faith gives Arthur the courage he needs to push open the door into the hospital room.

Arthur feels like he’s stepped through time. The room is identical to how it was all those months ago, save the brilliantly colored flowers that adorned the tables and countertops are now withered and dying. Arthur supposes it must be the family who deals with things like that and Agravaine is clearly not doing his job. And there are certainly less people buzzing about the room this time. Almost unconsciously he steps to the left of the door and leans against the wall studying his father just as he did nearly six months ago.

Uther Pendragon looks small and _human_. When Arthur was young he never thought of his father as a person, more like a force of nature, unstoppable, destroying anything and everyone that stood in his path. The faint rattling breathing is more than enough to prove that isn’t the case. His skin is so pale it nearly matches his sheets, the scar on his eyebrow more apparent against his ashen skin. He looks smaller too and Arthur’s not sure if he should attribute that to a loss of muscle mass or maybe he’s always been that size, it’s only in Arthur’s mind's eye that he looms impossibly large.

Cool fingertips against his wrist bring him back to himself. Merlin doesn’t say anything, doesn’t have to, just the steady presence of his finger against Arthur’s skin is enough to propel him forward, draw the dragon hide gloves from his pockets along with the replacement necklace. With a final departing squeeze Merlin moves to stand by the door keeping watch.

It’s worse up close. How corpse-like he is, the skin icy even through his gloves as Arthur lifts the silver chain from around his neck. It’s plain, with only a thin piece of metal hanging from the end like a dog tag, inscripted with his mother and father’s name and the date of their marriage. Simple enough not to draw attention but sentimental enough that no one would question its place around his neck. Genius choice really, shocking that Agravaine came up with the idea.

When the necklace is removed he places it in the same pouch he put the charm all those months ago and places the fake necklace Morgana had extracted from the newspaper around his father’s neck. Almost immediately, Uther’s breathing sounds better, less thick and wet, though there’s every chance that is just Arthur’s imagination.

He’s not sure how long he stands there before the gentle press of fingertips is back. He looks up at Merlin who gives him a soft smile that makes Arthur ache for things he doesn’t have the words to name.

“Do you want a minute alone?” Merlin asks. Arthur opens his mouth to protest but Merlin cuts him off. “If someone was going to stop us, they would have done it by now. I’m not going to leave the building, I could just use a cup of tea. Maybe get the name of that captivating book from the Welcome Witch.”

Merlin always knows exactly what to say and exactly what Arthur needs and gods if that doesn’t make whatever is pressing down on Arthur’s ribcage push harder.

Arthur can only nod and Merlin flashes him another smile. “I’ll grab you a biscuit.” He adds with a wink.

And then Arthur is alone staring at the prone form that is his father.

There’s a lot he wants to say, and a lot he doesn’t think he’ll be able to say, and even more that won’t be nearly as satisfying with his father unconscious. He scrapes up a chair anyway and rests his elbows on his knees as he leans toward his father.

“You knew something was going to happen, didn’t you?” Arthur asks. His father doesn’t answer. Arthur clenches his jaw, working through a problem that’s been festering in his mind for months. “That’s why you let Agravaine stay with us, you thought you could keep an eye on him. You thought if you kept him close, you could keep him under control.” He lets out a large breath. “Which means you had no idea he was going to target you or you would have had preventative measures in place. You must have thought…”

He trails off as he puts the pieces together. His father continues to sleep, each exhale a gargle of fluid. There are voices in the hall, loud and panicked but before Arthur can get to his feet to investigate, they go quiet. Must be some sort of medical emergency.

Arthur turns back to study his father with a frown. “You must have thought he was targeting me.” He clenches his jaw, gods what he would give for his father to wake up and answer his questions. He swallows. “Or you were using me as bait.”

Uther gives a rattling sort of breath but he remains asleep. The second theory certainly tracks better with Uther Pendragon’s record. “Did you know about the prophecy? Is that --”

Is that why his mother willingly gave her life knowing full well that the birth of a son would kill her? Because Arthur was _destined_ to bring back Old Magic?

“You aren’t allowed to die,” Arthur says, rising from his seat. “You haven’t answered all my questions.” 

And Arthur still hasn’t proved him wrong.

\--

“Morgana Pendragon,” a blond woman greets with an easy grin, voice carrying over the noise of the pub. She stands from her small table in the corner of the crowded room and holds out a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Morgause Gorlois.”

Morgana had planned on beating Morgause to the Leaky Cauldron in order to have some semblance of control over the situation (a power play Uther adopted frequently) but evidently Morgause had the same idea.

Morgana forces herself to smile. “This is my friend Gwen.” Morgause spares Gwen a cursory glance but largely ignores her presence. This makes Morgana bristle, her metaphorical hackles spiking up in alarm.

Morgause is small and slight, with eyes that might be magically modified given how much of her face they occupy. The dark eyeliner she’s caked around them makes them look even larger. Innocent, Morgana realizes. She’s trying to make herself look unthreatening to lull you into a sense of security. The easy smile and relaxed posture means she thinks she’s already got her. Well, she’s never met Morgana Pendragon.

Morgana pulls out a chair and Gwen takes the one across from her, so they can both keep an eye on the door. Morgause raises her eyebrows slightly but says nothing about their choice of seat and takes the one remaining between them.

“I was a little surprised you reached out to me,” Morgause says, smiling so she doesn’t show her teeth. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. “Most people don’t offer to just _give_ exclusive information.” She winks. “But I appreciate the help.”

Gwen is looking at Morgause like she’s oozing bubotuber pus, not that Morgause would notice as she hasn’t looked at her once. Morgause pushes some food toward her and Morgana and Gwen share a long look.

Morgana tilts her head. “You were a Slytherin, right?” Morgause blinks but doesn’t answer. “When I was a first-year, you were in your seventh. You ran that illegal school newspaper where you would publish anonymous confessions and when you got found out you revealed that nothing had been anonymous at all and published everyone’s name right beside their deepest secrets.” Morgause face tightens ever so slightly. “I’m a little surprised that someone so devious has resorted to lacing food with Veritaserum to get the information she wants.” Morgana shrugs. “I thought you’d be more clever.”

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Gwen’s hand go into her coat pocket to clutch her wand but Morgana doesn’t take her eyes off of Morgause who’s studying her with her giant eyes. At last she throws her head back and laughs, showing all her shark teeth. “I like you Morgana Pendragon, it’s a shame our father’s had a falling out after my parents split or I think we would have spent a fair bit of time together growing up.” Morgana doesn’t let her face change expression, just files the information away to analyze later. Morgause leans back and takes a chip off the plate. “And just so we’re clear, I didn’t poison the food.”

Morgana nods to the teapot. “Just the tea.”

Morgause shrugs. “What makes you say that?” She’s appraising now, studying Morgana for weaknesses she can exploit.

“Your articles. Either you’re sitting in Agravaine’s back pocket and he’s feeding you information or your ‘exclusives’ are so exclusive because people are confessing their deepest secrets.” Morgana leans forward. “You pulled the same shit at Hogwarts. You might want to start paying more attention to who is around when you dump illegal potions into the punch bowl right in the middle of the common room.”

Morgause gives a snarl of a grin. “And what if I am in Agravaine’s pocket?”

Morgana grins. “Oh, I’m sure you are.” Morgause’s smile falters. “That’s where you really messed up, the only voice you’ve ever managed to make authentic in your articles was that rat bastard.” He was the only person she could read when she tried to divine emotions from the paper. “He’s the only one you’re too scared to try anything with so he’s probably telling you what to report on and in turn you stay out of his way and feed him the information he wants.” Morgana turns her smile menacing. “And I bet you _hate_ it, answering to someone as pathetic as Agravaine but you were willing to do anything to get out of the tabloids.”

Morgause crosses her arms, all traces of amusement vanished. “You can’t prove anything.”

Morgana purses her lips. “Actually, I believe if I call the lovely owner Tom whose been a family friend for years but _you_ wrote a rather insulting article about his tendency to hire Squibs to test _this tea_ ,” she says, tapping her nail on the ceramic, “the results would come back positive for a bit of truth serum. And then it’s a small investigation into the people you’ve been interviewing whose minds will no doubt bear the traces of a poorly done memory charm and you’ll be out of a job. And even Agravaine couldn’t keep that from the front page.”

Morgause isn’t smiling now but Morgana is trying very hard not to. After several long seconds where Morgause flickers her gaze between Morgana and Gwen as if finally realizing the other girl might be a threat she narrows her eyes. “What do you want?”

Morgana smiles. “I want you to tell me everything you didn’t publish in all those exclusive interviews, _starting_ with everything you know about my uncle. And then if I like what you have to offer, I’ll help you free yourself from his clutches.”

\--

The biscuits are stale, not that Merlin was expecting anything else. He has a very vague memory of visiting St. Mungo’s when Gaius had been stung by a manticore, of sitting in this sunlit tearoom at the top of the hospital full of small tables and frail chairs. The biscuits might be the exact same batch he tried back then though the room is much emptier. Only he and one other patient are present today.

He snags a few anyway, pocketing them for Arthur and to thank the Welcome Witch for letting them in. (He’s not thinking about how Arthur managed to get them in because it makes him embarrassed and sad and _confused_ and think about how absolutely _fucked_ he is because Arthur got a present for his _cat_ which just might be the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for him and gods what he wouldn’t give for Arthur to actually _want_ to be his boyfr -- it’s not the time to dwell on such things.)

As he makes his way toward the stairs and ice cold arm snatches his wrist. He looks down into the milky white eyes of an older woman.

“Emrys,” the voice is hoarse and frail but echoes louder in his mind, as if he’s hearing it in two places at once.

He looks around before remembering no one else is in the tearoom save he and this patient. “Yes?”

“You must fulfill your prophecy. The Circle of Time is almost at its rotation. It is your destiny. You mustn’t leave your king. There is danger.”

“Alright...” Merlin says trying to extract his hand from her grasp. She clutches tighter, her dry skin near scraping against his.

Her mouth opens wide though no words spill forth. But he hears them all the same in his mind. _You cannot trust the Seer, you should not trust the Dragon, you must only trust in yourself._ Her hand clutches him a bruising grip, he struggles to free himself but she only holds on tighter. The voice in his mind gets louder, more urgent. _The sands of time are draining and you must halt them, Emrys. Journey to the den of dragons with the king and the enchantress. To restore balance you need to find Exca --_

Merlin rips his arm out of her grasp and tumbles over a few loose chairs, landing painfully on the ground.

“Madam Disir,” an admonishing voice says from the doorway. A Healer rushes past him with a look of apology. “I’m so glad you found her! She’s been a resident for ages and never once left her room.”

Merlin is sweating, staring into the vacant expression of the other woman. He licks his lips. “Are you...a Seer?” he asks her.

The Healer narrows her eyes at him. “That’s a rather offensive assumption. Just because someone is blind doesn’t mean they are gifted with Sight. And it’s cruel to make fun of someone who doesn’t speak.”

There’s a ringing in Merlin’s ears and he watches the Healer guide the woman from the room. His magic is roaring through his veins. He takes a few calming breaths.

That was...odd (uncomfortable, terrifying) but it isn’t the first time someone has told Merlin weird riddles. Admittedly it is the first time it’s happened _telepathically_ and it seems more ominous given the similar wording to the _other prophecy_ , but none of the other strange things random wizards have told him have amounted to anything. 

A part of him wants to get back to Arthur and tell him about what happened but he also wants to make sure Arthur has enough time alone with his father. And more than likely, it doesn’t mean anything. He shouldn’t overreact.

Decision made he heads down to the reception area to give Arthur a few more minutes.

He’s vaguely surprised to find the room empty, even the Welcome Witch is nowhere in sight. He furrows his brow content to leave the biscuits on her desk with a note when he sees her book open on the ground an arms length away from the desk.

With Madam Disir’s words still ringing in his ears he peeks over the top of the desk and into the vacant eyes of the Welcome Witch, back ramrod straight where she lays on the floor, Stunned.

Merlin races to the stairs, his magic surging under his skin only one thought ringing through his mind.

_Arthur_.

\--

Gwen can’t believe Morgana is blackmailing one of the most prolific reporters who is currently, _definitely_ working for Agravaine by making her drink her own illegal potion and confess her sins. Or rather, Gwen _can_ believe it, she just can’t believe she’s baring _witness_.

“I’m just going to pop off to the loo,” she says, standing from the table. Morgana nods indicating she understands. Morgause hardly spares her a glance. Gwen suppresses an eye roll. She may as well be a fly on the wall for as much attention as Morgause has paid her.

On her way to the back hallway she accidentally bumps into a very slender man leaning against the wall.

“Pardon me,” she says but he doesn’t even grunt in acknowledgement, never taking his eyes off whatever he’s studying. Maybe she’s gone completely invisible seeing as no one is even noticing her. Perhaps she should try robbing the Apothecary to replenish her potion supplies with this new talent she’s acquired.

There’s a line for the toilets because there _always is_ so Gwen waits just outside the restroom for someone else to leave which gives her anxiety plenty of time to crawl out of the foundation of her thoughts and plague her mind.

Morgana has definitely taken things too far this time. Gwen wants to stop Agravaine as much as the next wizard but Morgana is flying much too close to the sun. Maybe her plan would pan out in her favor and she could convince Morgause to get her the information she needs (information Gwen still isn’t entirely clear on what they were searching for) in return for helping her leave Agravaine’s services but what if Morgause was just as corrupt as Agravaine and believed in what he did?

Or worse, what’s stopping Morgause from just telling Agravaine what Morgana was looking into? The rewards of this situation cannot _possibly_ outweigh the risks in Morgana’s mind (though Gwen does not claim to understand how it is exactly the inner gears of Morgana’s mind turn).

Someone brushes past her to the end of the hall, once again not noticing she’s there, and she’s surprised to see the same man she bumped into before, the one who was so focused he didn’t notice a whole human nearly knocking him to the ground.

The man grabs a small compact mirror from a pocket of his robes and starts hissing into it, still not noticing Gwen’s presence.

“What do you mean you’ve already called for backup? I’ve got sights on the witch here!” Gwen’s pulse begins to race faster. She’s sure this is a conversation he doesn’t want overheard. She can’t hear the muffled response from the mirror. “I don’t care if the boy is at St. Mungo’s,” Gwen’s pulse roars louder, “the witch is here and she visited her vault in Gringotts! I think Agravaine is far more keen on checking that vault than he is capturing the boy.”

Gwen feels suddenly, _extremely_ nauseous. The man gives another huff of annoyance to whatever is said on the other end of his mirror. “Fine, then I guess I will just get her myself.” The door to the restroom opens and Gwen quickly jumps in front of it, ignoring the annoyed look from the witch leaving. When the man at the end of the hall looks up at her she is already walking away in front of the other woman as if she too had just left.

She tries to keep her footsteps steady as she makes her way back to the corner but she can feel the shifty eyes of the man on her, the hairs on the back of her neck and arms prickling uncomfortably. 

They need to get out of here right away.

Before something disastrous happens.

\--

Merlin flies through the double doors to the fourth floor, stumbling into an almost empty hallway, racing toward the long term residence ward, the hospital unnaturally silent. His magic sizzles under his skin in warning.

A man stands alone right at the end of the hallway. The cloak is frayed and ragged, familiar in that Merlin saw it earlier in the day, but the other man is no longer visibly clawing at his skin as he did in the lobby. He takes a step forward, pocketing a small round object, and Merlin puts his hand before him in warning. The door to 4C is dead center.

The man lets his hood fall back.

The face is just as sinister as it was when he first saw it stepping through the flames at Avalon Manor.

Merlin’s magic surges through his veins and the air between them gives a sharp crack with electricity.

The man gives a snarl. “Going to burn down the hospital?”

Merlin sets his jaw. “I won’t let you touch Arthur.”

The man laughs. “So stupid, so _foolish_. As if the likes of you could ever stop me.”

He grabs his wand and throws a spell. Merlin thrusts his arm in front of him and a wave of instinctive magic ripples down the hallway blasting into the man and pinning him to the wall behind him. Merlin feels his eyes burn.

Merlin takes a few steps closer to the man pinned like an insect to the other wall. “Still reckon I can’t stop you?”

The man gives a horrible smile. “Well, not all of us.” Merlin’s heart stops as he spares a glance over his shoulder to see two more figures clad in black come through the double doors. He raises his other hand in warning and they halt momentarily studying him.

He doesn’t know what to do. His wandless magic always operates best on instinct and he has no idea how to command it to do what he wants. One of the new men throws a spell at Merlin which he hurls back with a flash of his eyes.

It's a stalemate.

The door to Uther Pendragon’s room slams open and Arthur looks in astonishment from Merlin standing in the middle of the hall to the three men cornered by Merlin’s magic at either end of the hall.

“Arthur,” Merlin says as calm as he can manage without taking his eyes off the door to the stairs. It feels like his magic is ready to rip him to pieces in its effort to get into the world. “Get back in the room.” He could probably Stun them, but he has no idea how to stop the spell from hitting Arthur. Really no idea how to cast that specific spell in the first place.

“Merlin,” Arthur whispers. Merlin distantly recognizes that for the first time since he’s ever known him, Arthur sounds afraid.

Before he can try and reassure him three more wizards appear with a _pop_ at the end of the hall. Six to two. Terrible odds.

The man from the manor yells, “what are you waiting for, grab him!”

There’s a series of loud explosions as several spells fly toward him. With a yell, he throws out his hand to send the magic back to the casters just as Arthur yells his name and tackles him to the ground, taking a spell right to the face. 

“No,” the man yells, “we need him alive!”

But it’s too late.

Arthur lands on Merlin with a thud, jagged lines appearing across his face, blood seeping from the wounds.

“Arthur!”

The tenuous hold Merlin had on his magic vanishes and he lets out an ear piercing scream as it pours out of him and ignites the world in gold.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please don't hate me for the cliffhanger. Next chapter should be up by the end of the week.
> 
> Next Chapter Features: BAMF!Merlin, BAMF!Morgana, and tenderly (and homoerotically) patching up wounds.
> 
> Comments and kudos are the best!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the absolutely lovely comments on the last chapter! They made an incredibly stressful day -- week -- existence? -- so much better! You are all the best <3
> 
> Now back to the action!

A child’s lilting laughter drifts above the heads of the patrons sitting about the Leaky Cauldron, a comical juxtaposition to the dismal display before her. The tea (that Morgana has not so much as looked at) has long gone cold, the chips soggy and flacid, and even the soup has congealed. 

This is taking way too long.

Morgana raises an eyebrow. “You really don’t know?” They’ve been talking for what feels like _hours_. Gwen had made herself scarce for the past few minutes to see if Morgause would be more open without her present.

Morgause glares at her. “I’ve told you everything I know. I even drank the goddamn tea to prove it, _you little shit_.” Morgana chooses to take that as a compliment. Most of the information Morgause has divulged is not terribly useful to Morgana. She isn’t a gossip columnist and has no desire to pursue that particular career path. She doesn’t care that the Head of the Department of Mysteries is cheating on his wife and the Office of Magic Transportation is cutting corners with their broomstick inspections.

Don’t get her wrong, it’s interesting but she isn’t here for gossip.

Morgause waves her hand impatiently and repeats a statement she’s reiterated countless times. “He’s been trying to get access to all the Ministry vaults and the Gringotts Vaults for months but I don’t know what he’s looking for specifically. He keeps most of the people working for him on a need-to-know basis. He uses me to see who is on his side and who isn’t and then occasionally I publish the information in the _Prophet_ , like those stories I wrote on Bayard from the Department of Mysteries and Olaf from the Office of Magical Artifacts. We’ve never even met at the Ministry because he doesn't want anyone to know I’m working for him. I know he’s spent a decent amount of time in the Department of Mysteries searching for a prophecy but I truly don’t know which one.” She gives a snarling smile. “As I’m sure you know since you’ve no doubt read all my articles.”

Morgana purses her lips with narrowed eyes. “What do you think his next move is?”

The reporter crosses her arms, visibly biting her tongue. The potion must be wearing off. “No, I’ve answered all your nosy questions, it’s time you tell me how you’re going to help me.”

Morgana rolls her eyes. “I can provide you with information proving Agravaine poisoned Uther Pendragon in order to become Minister.”

Morgause sneers. “Everyone already suspects that _sweety_ and they haven’t investigated him yet.” 

“ _Yes_ , but I can give you the what, where, why, and how.” Morgana shrugs. “Though you might want to do a bit of your own investigation to make the story worth the read.”

“What good would that do?” Morgause asks but her eyes are sharp, she’s interested. Morgana was right, there was no way that a girl devious enough to poison her classmates for a few popularity points would enjoy squirming beneath Agravaine’s thumb.

Morgana squints at her. “Oh come on, even I could read between the lines in that first article you published. There’s a shadow organization working against Agravaine, yeah? Composed of all those people who were mysteriously absent during the Registry vote, I reckon? All you have to do is give them some real momentum and he’d be gone in a month.”

Morgause gives her an appraising look. “Why not do it yourself?”

“Because brilliant though I may be, I am an underage student with a rather personal vested interest in the situation and no one will take me seriously,” she says. “You on the other hand are a reporter who is now known for digging up secrets no one wants exposed. You’ve got the audience, platform, and credibility I lack.”

“You’re a cunning witch Morgana Pendragon.” Morgause smirks. “Reminds me a bit of myself.”

Morgana purses her lips. “I’d rather it didn’t. Now how about you tell me what Agravaine is working on next.”

Morgause looks around to make sure no one’s listening in. “He wants me to find someone. I’ve been searching for months but it seems as if the moment Agravaine took office he’s vanished.”

“Who?”

“Geoffrey Monmouth.”

Morgana’s jaw drops but before she can ask any questions Gwen is tugging at her arm.

Gwen’s eyes are wide and frantic. “We have to go!”

“Why?” Morgana asks as Gwen pulls her to the feet and Morgause quickly grabs her belongings as well.

Gwen turns to look at a skinny man with the faint traces of a pathetic mustache on his upper lip staring directly at the three of them. “Because I think we’ve been followed.”

\--

The world is completely and totally silent. The only sound Arthur can hear is his own labored breaths.

And Merlin.

“Arthur, please. _Please_ , open your eyes. Don’t be dead. You can’t be dead. You stupid, brave, noble, _prat_.”

Arthur blinks past the stinging of blood in his eyes to take in Merlin’s terrified expression, the tears coating his cheeks. At the sight of Arthur with his eyes open, Merlin clamps a hand over his mouth and chokes out a sob. His eyes --

His eyes are an astonishing, radiant, _beautiful_ gold.

His fingers trace featherlight over Arthur’s face, a pleasant tingling following in their wake and Arthur can feel his skin tighten slightly as his wounds begin to rapidly clot, the skin stitching closed, as if he was never injured at all.

He sits up and looks around the stark white hall in astonishment.

Everything is stopped. The man from the manor is frozen just above the ground, having evidently slid down when Merlin released his hold on him. The other five men are statues, still as marble in various attack positions, wands raised, some mid-arc as if readying to throw a spell. The spells themselves a glittering of colorful light suspended in the air between them, blinding in their brightness against the white of the rest of the world.

Merlin is looking at him with his huge gold eyes in trepidation tears still streaming down his cheeks.

Arthur shakes his head and instantly regrets it as his head starts pounding, ears ringing, and the world swims slightly before him. “You stopped time?” he asks, confusion and possibly a head injury making his words as slow and muddled as his thoughts.

Merlin bites his lip as he looks around then glances down at his hands. “No one can stop time.” Arthur nearly wants to laugh at the idea that Merlin wants to correct his mistake at a time like this. “I think it’s just...ticking very slow.”

The last time Arthur saw Merlin’s magic he had started a fire, something countless wizards could do without a wand, even Arthur had managed it once or twice. But stopping _time_? It’s amazing, astonishing, _awesome_ in the truest sense of the word. A feat so powerful it shouldn’t be possible.

“You’re brilliant,” he says it before he can stop himself but his normal filters are shut off from seeing his father and the intoxicating feeling of magic around him, over his skin, in his bones. Before he thinks too much about it, Arthur reaches up a hand and cups Merlin’s face, brushing off the tears with his thumb.

Merlin trembles under his hand. “I thought -- ” Merlin chokes.

Arthur shakes his head again, Merlin’s tears cutting nearly as sharp as the scars on his face. “I know.” Arthur had felt the same when he opened the door and saw Merlin in the center of a battle all on his own. He acted without really thinking, but he didn’t regret taking the spell for Merlin. Would do it again if it came to that.

Merlin cracks the smallest smile. “We need to get you out of here.”

Arthur stands on unsteady feet. He reaches up a hand to his temple and feels a deep gash along the side of his head, his hand comes away wet and red. Merlin studies the wound, jaw clenched and his eyes narrow and flash brighter. A still fire ignites just behind them, no noise or sparks coming off it. It is just as frozen as the rest of the world and Merlin impatiently douses it with a wave of his hand. Arthur squeezes his arm. “We need to get _you_ out of here.” With Merlin’s magic acting so out of control, it’s not safe for everyone else in the building for him to remain long.

They make their way past the various men to the stairs, Arthur leaning heavily on Merlin. “What about everyone else here?”

Merlin pushes the doors open and nods at the scene before him. “I think they’ve got it covered.” A sea of Healers and patients are frozen mid-flight sprinting up the stairs,, wands raised. Arthur looks at Merlin with wide eyes. Merlin shrugs. “I reckon that man,” Merlin gestures to the man he had pinned against the wall, “thought it’d be easier to get to you so he didn’t bother Stunning anyone on the other floors.”

Arthur nods and they stumble through the rest of the hospital toward the Floo in the lobby. The sight of the Welcome Witch on the ground makes Arthur gasp but Merlin assures him she’s alive, just Stunned.

All these people at risk, just to get to _him_. Guilt bubbles acidic in his stomach.

Merlin pulls him into the Floo grate, the two of them crowding in together, and Arthur watches his eyes as they burn brighter for one moment, restarting time, and then fade to blue as he takes them home.

\--

Morgause doesn’t spare a moment to see who it is.

“I’ll be in touch,” she says and then she turns on her heel and disappears with a _pop_.

“Morgana!” Gwen squeaks as the man pushes a few patrons out of the way to get closer to them.

Morgana feels panic seize up her thoughts and muscles. This wasn’t her forte, spur of the moment decisions. That was Arthur’s specialty. She was far better with premeditated plans and even when she pictured all the ways _this plan_ could go wrong, never once did she consider that they would be tailed by Agravaine’s assistant who was evidently seeking to _capture_ them.

Morgana shakes her head. What would Arthur do? Probably something really stupid.

Morgana points her wand at the table Cedric is edging around. 

“ _Incendio_!” She feels the gentle rush of magic through her and watches as the table explodes into flames.

Screams fill the Leaky Cauldron as wizards begin sprinting in earnest, fleeing the fire, fleeing Cedric who has now pulled out his wand and is throwing curses across the pub at them. All of the glasses on the table before them explode and Morgana covers her face against the raining glass. Several patrons jostle him as they run, knocking him to the ground.

Gwen tries to make a break for the door leading to Diagon Alley but Morgana grabs her arm and drags her toward the front door. “He’s a wizard, it’s easier to hide in muggle London,” she yells in answer to Gwen’s unasked question.

Gwen nods and they burst through the front door, into the busy street where muggles scowl at them as they bump into them as they run from the dodgy looking building. Morgana can count on one hand the number of times she’s walked these streets (it’s not as though Uther took them on sight-seeing trips of the muggle world) but she doesn’t pay any mind to the buildings around her or where they’re headed, she just takes the corners as fast as her legs will carry her, the buildings rushing by in a blur of smog-tinged stone, making sure Gwen is at her side.

They turn a corner to find themselves in a very cluttered alley and Morgana has to put her hands on her knees to catch her breath.

“Are we -- heading -- to the train,” Gwen pants, pushing her hand against a stitch in her side.

“Don't know --” she pants back, “-- how to get there.”

“The Knight Bus?”

Morgana shakes her head, willing her thoughts to race faster. The Knight Bus, while public, runs too much of a risk of being seen by someone loyal to Agravaine since evidently he was after _her_ too.

(Is this about the prophecy? Does Agravaine know she has skills of Old Magic? Or is he just going to use her to get to Arthur?)

She looks at Gwen as her breath finally starts coming at less painful speeds. “How’d he find us?”

“Said he was -- watching Gringotts.”

Morgana grits her teeth. She should have known better. They knew Agravaine was waiting to pounce on their vaults and probably had people stationed there ready to call for him if either she or Arthur showed up so they could waltz him right into the Pendragon’s vault.

Gwen is still clutching her side. “He also said he knew Arthur was at St. Mungo’s.”

Morgana’s blood runs cold. “Fuck.”

This whole situation is so much bigger than any of them had realized. It was one thing to discuss conspiracy theories in the safety of a classroom high atop a tower, it was quite another to be living out the plot of an action adventure story.

“Morgana!” Gwen cries, pointing at the head of the alley.

She turns, wand drawn to see the snarling face of Cedric Cole. He was a Slytherin, graduated last year, much to everyone’s surprise as he was well-known for his thieving tendencies.

“Hello Morgana.”

Morgana puts herself in front of Gwen and sticks her chin up high. “Hello Cedric. You’ve looked better,” she says gesturing to the singed edges of his robes. A flicker of pride runs through her at the potent fire charm she cast. Perhaps weeks of unconsciously casting the spell in her sleep had its use after all.

Cedric scowls, making him look as young as they are. “You have something I want, so how about you hand it over and you won’t get hurt.”

Morgana makes her face comically innocent. “I haven’t a clue what you mean.” Morgause may not have known what Agravaine was after but Cedric certainly would. And if she can goad him enough, he might just be stupid enough to confess.

Cedric glowers, clutches his wand tighter until Morgana can see his knuckles go white even from where she’s standing. “Don’t play innocent with me, it doesn’t suit you.”

Morgana smiles. “Tell me what you want and maybe I’ll be able to give it to you.”

Cedric stands up taller and squares his shoulders and Morgana realizes his loyalty to Agravaine runs deep, much deeper than Morgause’s, deep enough to hurt them in this narrow alley to get what he wants. They’re backed into a corner, literally, Gwen behind her and then just the back wall that they certainly couldn’t scale before giving him the opportunity to land a few spells. And Morgana’s shield spells need some work and Gwen hardly knows any offensive spells. On top of that they’re both underage. If they use any magic they could be expelled. 

But Morgana had already used a spell once, it’s not as if they could expel her twice.

What would Arthur do?

Something horribly brave and stupid.

“Gwen,” Morgana says, low and quiet, never taking her eyes from the skinny man in front of her. “Grab my arm.” Without question she feels Gwen’s fingers dig painfully into the muscle of her arm.

Cedric shakes his head. “I don’t want to hurt you, Morgana.” His wand is raised and ready. And she believes him, believes that if things were going the way he wanted he wouldn’t have to throw a spell at them, but she also knows a look of desperation when she sees one.

She shakes her head. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not going to give you the chance.”

There’s a _BANG_ in the alley, as the wall where Morgana and Gwen stood explodes in a clattering of bricks, then the world is spinning and narrowing to a point. Her body painfully squeezes and constricts and she feels as if she might disappear from this earth entirely, the only thing grounding her to reality is Gwen’s painful nails digging into her flesh.

\--

Merlin stumbles into his sitting room with Arthur clinging to him, he keeps his balance (barely) and staggers them into their small kitchen. He sits Arthur down on a stool by the table and races to the bathroom to grab their medi-potion-kit.

His whole body is shaking by the time he gets back and he wants more than anything to collapse but he has to keep it together, keep himself together for Arthur. He pulls the purple Wound-Cleaning Potion with shaking hands. His fingers still as Arthur’s warm hand wraps around his. Merlin looks into his cool blue eyes.

“You should sit down.”

Merlin shakes his head and bites his lip, wills his eyes to stop stinging, and steps in front of Arthur to look at the gash on the side of his head. He needs to treat Arthur. The fear that crept into Arthur’s voice back at the hospital rings loud and painful in his already ringing ears. He doesn’t know how long Arthur’s going to let him be near him now that he’s scared of Merlin, scared of his magic. Was this why Gaius and his mother were so determined to keep it a secret? Because people would fear him?

He grabs some gauze from the kit and presses it to Arthur’s temple to halt a bit of the bleeding. It’s deep and bad and _gods_ he wishes his mother hadn’t gone with Gaius to visit friends today (although he has no idea how he would explain any of this without confessing everything). His eyes rove over Arthur’s face as the blood seeps into the cotton. There are faint spider-like cracks running all over the golden skin where deep cuts once were. His magic had stitched those closed before he could help it but evidently the wound on the side of Arthur’s head was too deep for a gentle spark of magic to heal. Merlin swallows back bile as he drips some of the purple potion onto the wound and it sizzles faintly.

“Merlin,” Arthur’s voice is so gentle you’d think he was the one that was hurt. His vision blurs as he looks for the special healing paste Gaius always makes for them.

“Just -- just let me help you and then I’ll leave you alone.” He looks into Arthur’s eyes and begs him to let him finish. Arthur furrows his brow.

“What --” Arthur asks but exhaustion descends on Merlin all at once. Merlin sways slightly on his feet as some his remaining energy seeps from him. Arthur’s hands go to his waist to steady him. At the contact, Merlin feels his magic wake up once more, trying to surge into Arthur, jolting him back to full consciousness.

Merlin takes a staggering step back, hand gripped around the jar of paste. “ _Don’t touch me_.”

Arthur sucks in a breath and a hurt expression flashes across his face for the briefest moment.

Merlin rushes forward. “No -- I didn’t --” he takes a breath, finding it difficult to locate the words to explain. “I don’t have control of my magic right now. So I can’t stop it from healing you if we get too close.” He doesn’t have the energy to worry about the implications of his phrasing. He just stares at Arthur and wills him to understand.

Arthur looks marginally relieved and then he bites his lip. “Is that so bad?”

Merlin blinks, thoughts slow and confused with exhaustion. “What?”

Arthur looks up at him with an open and clear expression. “Is it so bad if your magic heals me?”

Merlin feels his eyes sting again. “You aren’t scared of me?” His voice catches on the last word.

Arthur reels as if he’s been slapped, the movement causing his head wound to bleed even more. Merlin rushes forward to push more gauze against Arthur’s scalp. Arthur gives him a look like he thinks he’s an idiot. “Merlin,” Merlin’s knees nearly buckle at the use of his first name (there’s a chance that this is his weakness just as it is Arthur’s), “you saved my life, why would I be afraid of you?”

Merlin blinks against the tears and shrugs, not trusting himself to speak. Arthur goes to grab his wrist again but stops just shy of his skin. His magic sizzles with anticipation. Arthur licks his lips and a fire shoots through Merlin. “I mean if -- if you’re willing -- your magic already healed me once.” Arthur shoots a look at his leg.

Merlin shakes his head and whispers, “but I don’t control it. It just _does_ it. We don’t know if it will hurt you.”

Arthur gives him a smile that Merlin would be so bold as to call fond. “It won’t hurt me.”

Merlin huffs a laugh. “How do you figure?”

“Because I trust you.”

Arthur’s head is still bleeding, quite a bit. Which is both incredibly dangerous and also can probably explain Arthur’s sudden openness and vulnerability and willingness to let Merlin essentially experiment on him. But Merlin’s almost out of gauze and the jar of paste is far too light to have enough to properly heal Arthur’s wound.

With a feeling like dread in his gut, Merlin gnaws on his lip as he presses his fingers against Arthur’s temple. Arthur leans into his touch and sucks in a sharp breath but before Merlin can snatch his hand back Arthur’s fingers close over his wrist in a vice grip keeping him in place.

His magic surges sharp and electric in his veins and he can feel his eyes go hot as it drains from him into Arthur. He watches as the nasty gash on Arthur’s head stops bleeding and then seals itself closed once more.

His vision goes black and he sways unsteady on his feet. He comes back to himself with the feeling of sturdy hands around his hips (somehow he remained standing), his forehead pressed against Arthur’s, their faces so close together as he leans down into Arthur (he has a moment’s annoyance at being practically unconscious while in this position). He opens his eyes to find Arthur looking at him the same way he did when he carried him to the infirmary after his Quidditch match, with something close to wonder on his face though this time, his eyes appear significantly more focused. Arthur’s pupils are swallowing the blue of his eyes and Merlin doesn’t have the control to stop his gaze from flicking down to Arthur’s mouth.

Arthur lets out an unsteady breath which Merlin feels ghost right across his mouth and how he _wants_ \--

“Merlin,” Arthur whispers, his name carried on a breath that brushes against his lips and Merlin shivers, running his nose down Arthur’s, moving them closer, until Merlin feels Arthur’s next exhale one _milimeter_ from his mouth.

Then a canon goes off right outside the kitchen window and both of them spring apart, Merlin slamming his elbow against a cabinet and Arthur falling to the floor.

Merlin nearly wants to scream at the universe for how utterly _unfair_ it’s being and can it _please_ wait just _one minute_ so Merlin can snog the stupid noble _idiot_ sprawled out on his kitchen floor but is cut off when Morgana and Gwen tumble through his backdoor looking like they’ve just seen a ghost.

\--

“You Disaperated?” Arthur asks, gobsmacked. He had patiently listened to nearly all of her story getting visibly more tense as she discussed meeting Morgause, learning that Agravaine was looking for Geoffrey Monmouth, being followed by Cedric, but evidently their narrow escape is where he draws the line.

Morgana crosses her arms over her chest in annoyance. They are sitting in Merlin’s cozy living room, Gwen and Morgana wrapped in warm quilts with steaming mugs of tea in their hands. (Merlin had been running around playing host though he looked damn near close to _collapsing_ until Arthur pushed him into the rocking chair and threatened him with ropes if he stood up again. It is a testament to the severity of the situation that she didn’t make a single joke about the implications behind such a statement.) Arthur sits in an overstuffed armchair, elbows on his knees studying the two of them for signs of injury which is a bit rich seeing as he and Merlin had blood all over their shirts when they came in. They’ve all cleaned themselves up on Merlin’s insistence so his mother doesn’t immediately have a heart attack at the state of all of them.

Morgana huffs a breath. “I didn’t have a choice! We were cornered. I don’t need a lecture about using magic outside of school.”

Arthur shakes his head. “It’s not that I’m just...impressed.” He admits grudgingly. Morgana feels herself warm. “That’s really complicated magic. You haven’t even taken the test or anything.”

Morgana sighs. “I’m just thankful I mistakenly got the invitation and took the lessons. Can’t imagine what we would have done otherwise.” Next to her Gwen shudders. “But what about you two! We heard Cedric say there were people at St. Mungo’s.”

Arthur looks over at Merlin who somehow goes paler. Arthur clears his throat. “We exchanged the necklace. I don’t see how anyone would know what we were doing or that it’s a fake. But I guess we’ll find out if Uther doesn’t get better in the coming weeks.” He pauses, furrowing his brow as he’s putting together pieces of a puzzle Morgana can’t see. “Agravaine had someone stationed at St. Mungo’s just as he did Gringotts. He must have figured I would come to visit Uther.” Arthur sighs. “He would have known it would drive me mad not to see him myself, especially since Agravaine was the one who forbade it. He knows I have a bit of a problem with authority.”

Morgana snorts. “More like you have a problem if you aren’t the authority.” Arthur flashes a rude gesture. She bites her lip. “So you think we were right? About the prophecy?”

Arthur tenses only slightly at her words, as if he’s finally getting used to the idea. “I’m not sure there’s any other explanation.” He shakes his head. “This is the second time Agravaine has tried to...kidnap me. Why else would he do that if not for the prophecy? If it has my name on it, then he would need me to get it, right?”

Morgana nods. “Whatever he’s doing with the Registration...Morgause said he keeps heading to the Department of Mysteries so maybe he’s hoping if he meets someone else involved, their name will appear too.”

Gwen purses her lips. “But that doesn’t make sense either. Agravaine must already know the prophecy.” She looks between them. “The prophecy doesn’t mention anything specific but Agravaine is looking for something, or maybe even several somethings, but it's clear he has a _direction_. Which means he likely not only knows the contents of the prophecy but the tools needed to fulfill it. If all that’s true…”

“Then why would he care whose name the prophecy bears?” Arthur finishes. “And why not just...kill me?” Merlin’s head snaps up so sharply Morgana swears she hears a crack. “He had the chance all summer. That would make the prophecy invalid right?”

Morgana rubs her hands over her eyes. “Maybe. I don’t think once a name has been destined for a prophecy it can change but I’m not totally sure.” She bites her lip. “But if it can’t change then yes, killing you would ensure that it could not be fulfilled.”

Merlin leans forward with a tense expression. “He wants you alive.” Everyone turns to look at him. “At the hospital when they started throwing those damaging spells he said ‘we need him alive.’” He folds back into himself as he finishes the statement.

Arthur shakes his head. “Too much of this doesn’t make sense. How on earth does Geoffrey Monmouth fit into this?”

Morgana shrugs. “Dunno. But I think we know what we’re looking into when we get back to school.”

“Do you..do you think we’re safe here?” Gwen asks in a small voice.

Merlin looks up at her words. He slowly seems to be reviving himself as he had some tea and chocolate. “Should be. Alice is a former Auror and the building’s warded against Apparition. They might be able to Apparate outside but only registered people can use the Floo or the backdoors. They’d have to go through Alice to get into the inn and even then they couldn’t open the doors to our quarters.” Merlin gives a small smile. “It’s a good thing you visited two summers ago or you would have been Stunned when you touched the doorknob.”

Morgana nods but Gwen bites her lip. “I still think we might want to head back to school early. We know Hogwarts is safe and we shouldn’t put your mother in unnecessary danger. I’m going to owl Elyan and tell him to come back too. I doubt Cedric recognized me or anything but I’d hate for something to happen to my dad or my brother just because --” Gwen stops suddenly in the middle of her sentence.

“Because you know us.” Morgana finishes for her. Her best friend gives an apologetic shrug but Morgana knows she’s not wrong.

Gwen looks around the room. “Do you think we should tell someone? Like, an adult?”

She expects Arthur to jump up with a hundred reasons why that’s a bad idea but to her surprise it’s Merlin who speaks. “What would we tell them? That we think there’s a prophecy Agravaine is trying to thwart but no idea if it’s true? Or do we just tell them that we think Agravaine is evil and out to get the Pendragon family? Because I reckon that’s already fairly obvious.” 

Merlin sets his jaw. “Agravaine seems to be after Arthur but as long as Arthur is at Hogwarts, he should be safe and if neither of you venture to Gringotts, he shouldn’t be able to get whatever is hidden in your family vaults.” Merlin turns to study her. “You said Morgause was going to try to weasel away from Agravaine right?” Morgana nods. “Then the Head Healer should be able to treat Uther without interference. As far as Agravaine knows right now, Uther is still sick and Morgause isn’t working against him. With any luck, she’ll be able to get the evidence she needs so the Ministry can sack him and your father will recover enough that the will is null and void and Agravaine won’t be able to go through your vaults.”

Gwen pulls the blanket tighter around her. “There’s a lot of _if_ ’s in that theory, Merlin.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and looks a fair bit healthier with that movement alone. “You sound like Lance.”

“Merlin’s right,” Arthur says. Morgana wonders what has been going on during this little Christmas Holiday that Arthur has stopped referring to Merlin as _Emrys_ but she has enough tact to save it for another time. “Right now, Agravaine doesn’t seem keen on killing kids but I’m not sure he’d have the same reservations about adults.”

Morgana nods along. “If we figure out what he’s doing, then I think it’s safe to tell people, just like we did with Uther’s sickness. I don’t think it’s smart to give away too much before we have all the information. We still don’t really know who we can trust.”

Gwen sighs. “So now we just have to crack a prophecy before Agravaine who has an entire Ministry at his disposal?”

“Seems like it.” Morgana nods as she takes another long drink from her tea, deliberately not looking at the dregs at the bottom of her cup.

The Floo in front of them bursts to life and all four of them jump to their feet, wands drawn. Morgana’s cup shatters on the floor.

Merlin’s mother looks around the room in something close to shock before she lands on Merlin who gives a sheepish shrug. “Well,” she says, dusting soot off her jacket, “you all seem a bit jumpy.” She looks at Merlin with a raised eyebrow. “I take it I’ll need to make two more helpings for dinner?”

\--

Having been evicted from Merlin’s bedroom by Morgana and Gwen, he and Merlin make camp on the floor of his living room. It feels like weeks ago was Christmas Eve, Arthur can hardly believe it’s only been two days.

Everything feels so different, so much more real.

It’s one thing for Morgana to tell him he’s in a crackpot prophecy and for him to theoretically agree, it’s a very different thing to experience it first hand.

Merlin’s already on the ground, curled on his side facing the fire. Arthur awkwardly hesitates at the edge of the blankets. Is it weird to lay down next to Merlin, especially after how poorly he reacted to being Arthur’s pretend boyfriend and then the intense charged moment in Merlin’s kitchen where Arthur _swears_ Merlin had been about to --

“Just lay down, Arthur.”

Arthur hastily scrambles into the blankets so his head is by Merlin’s feet. 

(Safer this way.)

Arthur rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling.

“Are you ok?” They ask at the same time. Arthur breaks into a small smile as Merlin chuckles quietly.

He feels Merlin shift beside him, rolling onto his back too. “Why would you be asking me that?”

“I don’t know, _Mer_ lin. Maybe because you single-handedly attacked a dozen men, got us to safety, cured my injuries, and nearly killed yourself from exhaustion.”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly single-handed seeing as you were there.”

Arthur sighs. “Yes, but I’m not sure I helped all that much.” He had been so afraid, as he stood there useless while Merlin stood trapped between so many wizards. “You did most of the work.”

Merlin’s quiet for a long time. Suddenly Arthur wishes he’d risked it and put his head right beside Merlin’s so he could see what kind of expression he is wearing at the moment.

“It’s never been like that before,” Merlin confesses.

“Your magic?” Merlin hums in assent. It’s one of the many topics Merlin carefully avoids discussing no matter how stealthily Arthur pries. Arthur doesn’t know how far he can push his luck. “What’s it feel like?”

“What?”

“Your magic. Is it different than when you use your wand?”

(There’s another dangerous coincidence brewing right at the edge of Arthur’s mind that he doesn’t want to confront. It has not been lost on him that there is an old and powerful branch of magic rising from the ashes and Merlin wields a power like none he has ever seen. It’s something he doesn’t want to think about because he desperately doesn’t want it to amount to anything.

He misses the days when a coincidence was just a happenstance.)

“It’s _different_ but...I’m not sure how to describe it. How would you even explain wand magic?”

Arthur mulls the question over, trying to put a name to feelings that are nearly second nature, an extension of himself. “It’s...warm.” He closes his eyes as he imagines the gentle warmth, so slight it’s hardly noticeable, that fills his soul when he casts a spell. “It feels like sitting by a fire after a day spent in the snow with a cup of cocoa in your hands. It’s...comforting,” Arthur decides.

“It feels safe,” Merlin adds. Arthur thinks that is an interesting way to describe it, but he doesn’t have any basis of comparison. (Though if the brief brushes he’s experienced are anything to go by, then perhaps describing the wandless magic as dangerous would be accurate.)

“And that’s not how your other magic feels?”

After a few long moments Merlin says, “We’ve only ever been on one vacation, once when I was young. We went to the beach. Me and my mum and Gaius.” Arthur blinks up at the wooden beams above him. He hadn’t been expecting a story but he would cherish it all the same, as he did all the pieces of himself that Merlin gave to him. “Gaius has a friend who lived in a lighthouse which at the time -- and I guess still to this day -- I think is the coolest thing I’ve ever heard.” Arthur chuckles and he can hear the soft smile in Merlin’s voice. 

“I don’t remember much of the beach but I do remember the lighthouse. One night this huge storm blew in and it felt like the whole building was going to crack. But instead of waking up my mum or Gaius, I climbed right to the very top where the lantern sits. And I looked out over the waves, huge and towering, crashing against each other and the shore in violent surges and a strike of lightning lit up the sky, and it looked like even the clouds were fighting and thunder shook the building. It was like watching nature at war. And then, all at once, it stopped and the world went so perfectly calm with the eye of the storm.” Merlin pauses for a few moments. “That’s how it feels.”

“The calm or the storm?”

“Both.” Merlin clears his throat and Arthur can feel him closing the door on that conversation. Knows he’ll need to wait a few days before he can bring it up again. “But what about you? Are you ok after...everything?”

Arthur chews on his lip. “It’s weird. Knowing that it’s all real.”

He feels Merlin move and he realizes he’s shaking his head. “We don’t know that.”

Arthur smiles at the defiance in Merlin’s voice. “Then how else would you explain all the men at the hospital? Or Agravaine trying to go through Morgana to get into Gringotts? Or anything else that’s happened?”

“We’re going to stop him.” There’s a conviction in Merlin’s voice that makes Arthur nearly believe him. “We’re going to figure it out and stop Agravaine from thwarting the prophecy and Uther’s going to recover and he’s not going to get to you. I won’t let him.”

Arthur smiles. “Are you my bodyguard then?”

“Yeah, you’ll get my bill at the end of the month.”

A surprised laugh flies out of him and he has to put his hand over his mouth so he doesn’t wake the whole house. Merlin kicks a foot toward his face. “Shut up, you prat!”

“Get your disgusting feet away from me!” Arthur says pushing Merlin’s legs toward the fire, kicking him back.

“You get your feet away from me!”

“Prat!”

“Idiot!”

“Dollophead!”

“Clotpole!”

“That’s my word!”

A door slams open upstairs and he and Merlin go still listening to the pounding of feet sound down the hall until Morgana’s face appears through the slats in the bannister. “Both of you stop flirting and go to sleep!” She hisses.

Arthur flushes as he stares at the ceiling and makes a note to _murder_ his sister when they get back to school in the morning.

After a few moments of silence Merlin says, “sorry about how your holidays turned out.”

Arthur smiles as he thinks of waking up to see Merlin sleepy and irritated each morning; helping Hunith make them breakfast, he and Merlin somehow dousing themselves in flour; of Merlin’s face when he opened up Aithusa’s present. 

“Still one of my better ones.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates on Thursdays!
> 
> Next Chapter Features: A dragon, an important tea reading, and a confrontations that's been like 15 chapters in the making.
> 
> Comments and kudos are the best!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consistent Posting Schedule?? I don't know her.
> 
> So here's the deal: I'm so cloooooose to finishing this whole thing. I've had so much of the last third of this written since January and I'm not patient enough to wait a full week before sharing it. So updates will (hopefully) be twice a week as long as I can edit the chapters to a place I like.
> 
> Thank you for all the comments, kudos, bookmarks, and everything. For sure would not have cranked out 150,000 words in a matter of a few months without them :)

“I hereby call to order --”

“Mor _gana_!”

Morgana bites back a smile at the exasperation in Arthur’s voice. “Fine,” she says, “we’ll skip the formalities, just this once.”

The Evil Knights are assembled around the room, each wearing a rather somber expression. Lance in particular (who was just informed of the on-goings over the past two weeks) looks like he ate an expired chocolate frog (the older they get, the more frog-like they become).

“Does anyone have any business they would like to share up top before we begin?”

Merlin raises a hand. “It’s about Gwaine…” Arthur takes in a sharp breath of air and looks like someone kicked him in the stomach. Idiot. How he doesn’t realize Merlin probably ( _obviously_ ) likes him just as much as he likes Merlin is beyond her. They flirted the _entire night_ they spent at Merlin’s, she hardly got any sleep. It was _disgusting_.

Morgana waves a hand impatiently so Merlin gets on with it before Arthur dies of a broken heart right in front of all of them. “I think we should invite him to the club. He’s the one who really figured the pattern in the people Agravaine was sacking.”

She watches Arthur let out a huge breath of air and physically clenches her fists so she doesn’t hit him over the head. _Idiot._ “We can take it under consideration. First, I think we need to discuss what we know for certain and then plan on where to go from there,” Morgana says. “Then if it seems like we need more people, perhaps we could invite him.” All though Morgana would rather invite an acromantula than Gwaine. “But let’s move on to more pressing matters.”

Arthur sighs and takes the lead. “I think it’s fairly certain the prophecy is about me. That I’m….the _Once and Future King_.” He sounds defeated and resigned. He purses his lips. “Do you think those other people would be people I know? _The Daughter of Pluto_ and _Magic Itself_? Or would they just be random strangers?”

Morgana swallows thickly. Now, it would be a great time to tell him about how she can access Old Magic, _now_.

Gwen shrugs. “Maybe, but then why would Agravaine do some huge Registry if everyone he needs is just _in_ Hogwarts? I don’t think he’d cast such a wide net if he knew it would be that easy.”

Arthur nods. “Fair point. Then maybe we should instead focus on finding whatever Agravaine is looking for.”

Morgana deflates as the conversation moves on. She’ll get a chance soon. And she’ll deal with the blow back then.

(She’s terrified of confessing. Of Arthur’s admonishing mixture of anger and disappointment, of Merlin’s quiet but just as cutting concern, of Gwen’s face when she realizes she’s been lied to, _again_. She’s kept the secret for too long so it’s grown inside of herself, the roots reaching into other lies until it’s no longer just one secret. It’s an entire year’s worth of half-truths she’s been dishing out to all of them.

She’s terrified of losing them, more terrified that she’ll push them away before that can happen.)

Merlin pulls his knees up to his chest from where he sits perched on a table. “It might not be a bad idea to visit the Centaurs again.”

“You’re right,” Arthur says and Merlin beams, “it’d be a _terrible_ idea.” Merlin’s expression immediately sours and he narrows his eyes and flashes Arthur a rude gesture. “Why on earth would you even suggest that?”

“No one knows anything about the prophecy except for us, Agravaine, and the Centaurs!” Merlin says. “It’d be nice to at least get a few questions answered.”

“Well,” Gwen says, eyes nervously looking between everyone, “someone else has to know.” Four blank expressions study Gwen. “ _Someone_ told Agravaine.”

Morgana blinks as she comes back to the conversation all at once. She nods. “You’re right, Agravaine must know who spoke the prophecy--”

“Or,” Arthur adds, “he was told the prophecy when it was first spoken --”

“Or,” Merlin finishes, “he was eavesdropping and overheard it.”

“But regardless,” Gwen says, “ _someone_ else knows.”

Merlin crosses his arms. “My money’s on that creepy person in the woods. Agravaine mentioned they had Sight.”

Arthur tilts his head. “Well my money is on Geoffrey Monmouth.”

Morgana feels her jaw drop. “You’re right. He’s been with the family so long he’s basically the Pendragon’s history keeper. That’s how he fits into all this! He must know the prophecy!”

Arthur nods solemnly. “I think it must be more than that though. If Agravaine is searching so desperately for him, he must have incredibly intimate knowledge of the contents. I think he must have been there when it was spoken.”

“Not that this isn’t fascinating,” Lance says, seeming to come back to life at last, “but how does any of that help with figuring it out? If Agravaine can’t find him, who has _trained Aurors_ looking for the man, then I’m fairly certain _we_ don’t stand a chance.”

Morgana watches Arthur as he works his jaw, staring intently at the spiderwebbed glass of the window, eyes unfocused as he’s thinking. “I don’t think the attack on Uther was just a means to an end. I think it was an intentional strike for more than just the position of Minister.”

Merlin’s brow furrows, understanding what Arthur means well before she does. “You think your father must know about the prophecy too?”

Arthur nods. And then Morgana gets it. “You think father, and Geoffrey, and possibly a whole handful of people heard it at the same time?”

“Yes. And if one of my father’s employees knows the contents, then I think it would be in our best interest to ask a few others.”

It’s Merlin’s turn to look like he ate an expired chocolate frog. “You want me to talk to Gaius?”

“No,” Arthur says and Merlin relaxes slightly until Arthur finishes his sentence. “I want you to talk to Gaius _and_ Kilgharrah.”

Merlin sticks out his bottom lip. “Why me?”

Morgana agrees with Arthur. “Because Kilgharrah likes you.” She amends her statement. “Well, he likes you as much as someone like him is capable of experiencing human emotions.”

Arthur rolls his eyes.

Merlin goes so far as to stomp his foot. “And what use is that going to do! We’re all supposed to just go to classes and research manticores and poison antidotes and forbidden curses and subtly interrogate our professors all while the world is on the brink of collapse?”

“Stop being so dramatic,” Morgana chastises. “The world isn’t on the brink of collapse. With any luck --”

“Of which we have _none_ ,” Merlin grumbles.

“Morgause will work with Hermione Granger and Annis Caerleon and all of those people high up in the Ministry and Agravaine will be gone before anything _we do_ actually matters.” Merlin scowls harder so she goes on. “Think of us as like a last line of defense. We have a mission so now we just need to take things one at a time.”

Merlin crosses his arms but it seems as though none of the other Knights are going to give him backup. Morgana tries not to preen with the power. “And what’s first? Suspiciously ask Gaius if he’s ever heard any weird prophecies? Teach ourselves to scry so we can spy on Geoffrey Monmouth?”

Morgana tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. You have to have advanced Divination skills to scry. You wouldn’t stand a chance.” Merlin glares at her. “Try to talk to Gaius, get through the first few days of classes, and we’ll reconvene.”

“And what, pray tell, will the rest of you be doing, your Highness?” Merlin grouses.

She tosses a book at him with the Great Merlin twirling his wand at the cover. Merlin scowls at it. “Some light reading.”

\--

January passes in a blur of snow and frost and yellowed pages adorned with the stories of a long-ago Kingdom. The month is full of mountains of coursework, reading every book the club can find about Camelot, making no real headway figuring out what Agravaine is looking for, and trying (and failing) to corner Gaius or Kilgharrah for a chat. Merlin knew it wasn’t going to be easy to get Kilgharrah to open up (all he’s received for his troubles are some rather uninteresting proverbs) but he expected more from _Gaius_. The man just pales considerably and hastily excuses himself from the room if Merlin tries to discuss any topics that aren’t related to potions. The suspicious behavior is rather damning evidence, much to Merlin’s annoyance as it means Arthur has one more thing to be right about. Prat.

The ever-present moisture of January is manifesting in a thick morning mist, drizzling so slow it may as well be suspended mid-air. The school of umbrellas making their way to Care of Magical Creatures huddle close to keep dry. It makes Merlin regret (not for the first time) signing up for so many outdoor classes.

Arthur smirks at him like he can read his mind. Merlin gives what he hopes is a normal smile as he takes a step away from Arthur to talk to Mordred. He ignores Arthur’s slightly hurt expression.

And, of course, there’s Arthur.

After their return to school Merlin had come to a rather painful realization. If Arthur, the most confident person Merlin had ever met, who took charge and went after whatever he wanted without reservation had wanted their friendship to be more than it was, it would be. The almost-kiss in Merlin’s kitchen had given him a hint of hope but Arthur really couldn’t be held responsible for his actions as he had just miraculously recovered from a head wound. And it’s not as if they’ve kissed since or Arthur has brought up anything of the sort.

So.

He’s Arthur’s friend. And that’s what Arthur needs right now. A friend. And he is more than happy for that to be his only role in Arthur’s life and in time these feelings would subside (he hoped). In the meantime he could put a little space between them. For Merlin’s sanity and out of respect for Arthur.

Merlin has mostly made peace with this realization.

Merlin shakes himself from his musings as they approach the enormous barn at the edge of the wood, that houses some of the most dangerous creatures in the entire Wizarding World, and Mordred bumps his shoulder.

Merlin grins. “Don’t think I ever thanked you for the watch.” He taps the face for emphasis.

Mordred’s smile seems to tighten just a touch but it might be Merlin’s imagination. “It was Will’s idea. But I’m glad you like it.”

Merlin holds it up where it seems to catch the light despite the lack of sunshine. “It was really thoughtful. I wear it everywhere.”

Mordred bumps his shoulder again. “Will’s gonna be thrilled to hear it.”

As they round the corner of the barn Hagrid emerges from the fog, a wide grin painting his face.

Hagrid beams at the class. “Big surprise, t’day,” he says, looking up at the sky, “big surprise.”

Mordred makes a slightly distressed sound in the back of his throat. “Oh gods, I hope it’s not harpies.” (Mordred had a bad experience with thestrals when he was young and wasn’t overly fond of flying creatures and after Merlin’s experience with wyverns, he’s not sure he too hasn’t developed a distaste for winged beasts.)

The class all looks up wearily at the sky. Hagrid _has_ been hinting that they are going to be covering some Quidditch mascots in the new term. Merlin doesn’t particularly want to face harpies either.

Mordred’s jaw drops. “Gods above,” he whispers, eyes huge.

Merlin squints his eyes into the mist and feels his own eyes widen. A creature is approaching, fast as lighting, huge wings beating through the dense fog. The beast is enormous, each beat of its wings brings it leagues closer to the edge of the clearing. The creature becomes visible in increments, a spiked tail, a sharp-ridged back, glowing purple eyes. He turns around to find Arthur wearing a boyish grin that melts his features. Merlin’s gut gives a painful sort of tug as he grins back.

(He’s really hoping the feelings go away sooner rather than later.)

The creature lands with a huge thud some distance away, snow and frost melting into the ground just beneath its feet. Up close Merlin can make out the scales black as night, smoke flaring through its wide nostrils, sharp talons digging into the soft earth. A rider slides off its back.

Mordred makes the distressed noise louder. “That’s a _bloody_ dragon!”

Hagrid practically skips up to it (a feat quite amusing for a man his size). He claps the rider on her back. Merlin resists the urge to run up to the beast without any permission. How many nights had he dreamt of meeting a dragon as a boy and now, _here it was_!

“Don’ be shy!” Hagrid turns back to the group. “She’s tame! Mostly,” he adds quietly almost to himself.

Mordred remains rooted to the ground so Merlin gives him a little push. Mordred shoots him a glare but the class makes its way closer (probably too close) to the dragon. Lance looks a little green and Gwen’s eyes appear to be bugging out of her face. Elena is practically vibrating in her skin, whispering to Mithian, “do you think we get to ride it?”

Hagrid beams at the class. “This ‘ere is Finna. She’s an ol’ friend of Kilgharrah and is doin’ us a _huge_ favor by coming here today.”

The dragon rider, Finna, gives them all a big smile and pats the dragon. “This is Evangeline, though we all just call her Eva. She’s a Hebridean Black, native to Great Britain. She lives in the sanctuary I work at.” The rider keeps talking but Merlin can’t take his eyes off the creature. She’s looking around wearily, eyes scanning the sky like she senses a threat. Merlin is just about to ask if something is wrong when she locks her purple eyes on Merlin, throws her head back, and _roars_.

The class erupts into chaos. Mordred and Julius take off toward the (likely just as dangerous) barn. Freya, Lance, and Gwen follow close at their heels, Freya warning that they need to keep their voices down or they’ll wake the Wilderon (in additional to being co-head of the Herbology club, Freya is the President of the Magical Agriculture Club and is intimately familiar with the creatures that lie within). Mithian grabs Elena’s arms and physically hauls her away from the creature. The dragon rider and Hagrid hold up their hands to placate the beast but she roars louder, spitting fire high into the sky. Someone grabs a handful of Merlin’s jacket and without looking Merlin knows it's Arthur (it’s becoming a signature move of Arthur’s: when he wants Merlin to move, when he stops Merlin from tripping over his own feet, sometimes for seemingly no reason at all. It is not helping with the feelings situation.). Merlin stumbles as he’s pulled back a few steps, Arthur trying to put himself in front of Merlin (the noble _idiot_ ).

The dragon stops all movement at once, eyes back on Merlin.

Then, the dragon _speaks_.

“ ** _Young Emrys_** ,” her voice is rough like gravel but warm like a winter’s fire, something that soothes the soul, “ ** _it is an honor to meet you_**.” She dips low on her front legs in a gesture that reminds him of Aithusa.

Merlin, still stumbling as Arthur tries to drag him away, answers, “ ** _you know who I am_** **?** ”

The world seems to go silent at his question. Hagrid and the dragon rider turn to look at him with mouth’s in the shape of comically perfect “oh’s” and Arthur freezes, though he keeps Merlin’s jacket bundled in his hands.

The dragon makes a noise like a fire crackling merrily with the presence of a new log to burn. Merlin realizes she’s laughing. “ ** _Of course, Emrys. I knew your father before you. He is the one who rescued me_**.”

Merlin takes in a shuddering breath and his eyes sting. He takes a staggering step toward the creature (Arthur has no choice but to stumble forward with him, hand still gripped in the fabric like a vice). “ ** _He saved you_** **?** ” His voice cracks but he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed. He knows so little of his father. The memories evidently too painful for his mother to revisit and even Gaius was hesitant to discuss him, nearly all of the stories had Gaius cutting off mid-sentence as if choked by grief. All Merlin knew was that the man had an aptitude for magic just like Merlin and he worked in dragon preservation. The idea that it is a _dragon_ who can tell him about his father makes him laugh. “ ** _What was he like_** **?** ”

The earth rattles at the dragon hums. “ ** _He was a good man who died for what he believed in_ ** **.** ” The dragon tilts its head and subtly gestures toward the rider and Hagrid. “ ** _I would be happy to speak with you more at the close of the visit. For now, would you be so kind as to inform my handler that I mean you no harm?_** ”

Merlin furrows his brow. “ ** _What do you mean?_** ” Hagrid and the rider still look comically startled. He turns to Arthur, his blue eyes wide and dark with shock. Behind him the class stands at the entrance of the barn everyone wearing expressions ranging from disbelief on Gwen’s face, to jealousy on Elena’s, to nausea on Mordred’s.

He turns back to the dragon, whose mouth is wide showcasing all of its sharp gleaming teeth. “ ** _Because young Emrys, they do not speak dragontongue_** **.** ”

\--

Arthur’s not panicking per se because that would surely be an overreaction. He didn’t end Quidditch practice early for any reason other than the weather, _obviously_. He’s not _running_ to Gaius’ office, it’s more of a brisk walk. And he’s not worried about _Merlin_.

There’s plenty of other things he’s worrying about, giving him an uncomfortable prickling sensation along his skin, making his breath come shorter and sharper. This second term is proving the most difficult to date. They have a dueling exhibition in DADA next week and Potter was being a real arse about it, taking an inordinate amount of safety precautions if you asked Arthur. In Herbology they were raising Beastly Begonias and needed to feed it every four hours or it would release some sort of toxin. And then there was that whole prophecy business, and Agravaine coming after him and Morgana, and his father was steadily improving but if Agravaine got any wind of this, all progress would be lost.

But none of that quite held a candle to his concern over _Merlin_.

After the dragon incident (as many were calling it) Merlin had virtually disappeared. At first, Arthur had attributed it to Merlin not wanting the attention. By the end of class the day of the incident Merlin had a swarm of first-years trailing behind him desperate to know how he had talked to the dragon and if he was willing to teach them. It would have been amusing if Merlin hadn’t seemed so quiet and upset after class, drawing into himself until he wasn’t opening up to Arthur at all, acting as if the past few months hadn’t changed anything between them, laying brick after brick until Arthur stood completely alone.

Merlin still sat beside Arthur in class and would show up at the top of the tower in accordance with Arthur’s study schedule for them to work on projects and read books on Camelot but he wasn’t really _there_. Gone was the chatty annoying Merlin that Arthur was so accustomed to and instead a quiet and stoic figure had taken his place. A _stranger_.

(Merlin left the last club meeting early.

“Do you think he’s talked to Gaius?” Morgana asked.

Arthur could have killed her. “Probably not, but he’s clearly going through something!”

“Yeah,” Morgana said, “so are we! How are we supposed to do anything if we don’t get any more information!”

“Can you stop being so selfish!”

“Can you stop being so infatuated!”

Rage swept through Arthur. “I am _not_ \--”

Lance cleared his throat. Arthur had sort of forgotten he was there. “I’ll just talk to Gaius. Solves the problem, yeah?”

Morgana and Arthur have been avoiding each other since.)

Arthur doesn’t know what to _do_. It's always Merlin reaching out to Arthur, making him open up and calming him down. Arthur doesn’t know how to do the same for Merlin. He assumes his first course of action would be to _find_ Merlin, except Merlin isn’t _anywhere_.

(Hence the panicking.)

He skids to a halt in front of Gaius office. He knocks and waits for the familiar soft voice to allow him entrance. The Potions Master and Transfiguration Instructor turn to look at Arthur when he peeks into the cluttered disaster of a room.

“Arthur?” Gaius asks, clearly not expecting him. Kilgharrah’s face is as impassive as ever. “What can I help you with?”

Arthur flushes suddenly embarrassed. This is so stupid, he should have known Merlin wouldn’t be here, not to mention he is completely overreacting just because Merlin hadn’t _smiled_ for a few days. “Sorry, professor I didn’t mean to disturb you…I was just hoping you might know where Merlin is?” His cheeks heat further. “It’s just, he’s been rather upset in class…”

Kilgharrah hums, rattling his chest. “Ah yes. It would seem the young Emrys was displeased learning of his gift.”

“Kilgharrah…” Gaius’ voice is low, a warning.

Kilgharrah shakes his head. “It is a rare blessing of Old Magic --“

“Kilgharrah!” This time Gaius’ voice is sharp like the crack of a whip. Even Arthur stills in the doorway at the anger in his voice. He’s never known Gaius to lose his temper. Even when Gwaine tried to smuggle out some Polyjuice Potion but accidently grabbed Draught of the Living Death and nearly killed himself, Gaius was more exasperated than anything. But now he’s _furious_.

Kilgharrah subtly inclines his head and stops speaking but he doesn’t look afraid, he looks nearly pleased though that may be Arthur’s imagination. Gaius returns his gaze to Arthur. “I am afraid I do not know where Merlin is but if you have not yet checked his dorm, that would be my next stop. I believe the password is _Femorah_.”

Arthur looks between the two men but knows a dismissal when he hears one. He turns and heads toward the Slytherin end of the dungeons.

Old Magic? Arthur gets an uncomfortable sort of knot right in his stomach. All his worst fears about the resurgence of something old and dangerous and powerful might not be all that unfounded after all. Which is just...awful.

His worries seem to be multiplying.

The Slytherin common room is dark and eerie, the students seated in the shadows. Arthur recognizes a few of Merlin’s friends and makes his way over to them.

The loud one, Will, stands when he sees him approach. “What are you doing here, _Pendragon_?” Will crosses his arms and blocks his path with his wide shoulders. He’s quite brutish, it makes him a good Beater.

Mordred sighs and gives Arthur an apologetic smile. Arthur had gotten to know Mordred better when they were both named prefects the previous year. Mordred wasn’t so bad, neither was the quiet girl they hung out with, it was _Will_ who was the problem. Will had never been able to see Arthur as anything other than Uther Pendragon’s son. Arthur suspects no matter how hard he tries, he’ll never earn Will’s favor. At least Will’s opinion didn’t cloud Merlin’s.

Arthur takes a breath to keep his temper down. “I’m looking for Merlin. He wouldn’t happen to be here, would he?”

Will narrows his eyes. “And what do you want with him?” It’s a fair question, one Arthur’s not fully sure how to answer. He just needs to see him, make sure he’s all right. 

That’s what friends do, right? 

He takes too long to answer so Will takes a step forward. “He said he wants to be alone. And I know with your _entitlement_ you aren’t used to being told no --“

“Will, shut your gob and stop being such an arse.”

Arthur turns around to see Merlin standing in the entrance to a long corridor. He’s barefoot in loose pajama bottoms and a thin t-shirt and his eyes and nose are red. His hair is stood on end, like he’s run his hands through it one too many times. Arthur’s fingers itch to smooth it out.

Merlin leans in the frame of the archway. “Who sent you?”

Arthur furrows his brow, wondering if he should lie, wondering if it would give too much away, but decides against it. “No one,” he says honestly.

Merlin’s eyes widen. “ _Oh_.” Merlin licks his lips and then looks over his shoulder. “Well, come on then.”

Arthur gives Will an insincere smile, gets a glower and a rude gesture in response, and then runs after Merlin.

The Slytherin dorms are remarkably similar to the Gryffindor ones. The only difference being the long, narrow shape of the room and the wrong color scheme. (Arthur would never admit it out loud, but the green and silver look much better with the dark stone of the castle).

Merlin sits on one of the beds and Arthur stands unsure in the middle of the room. He’d rather not accidentally sit on Will’s bed as it may lead to some sort of House War and Merlin’s trunk is open with items pouring out of it so he doesn’t think he can surreptitiously close it without dislodging several hundred knickknacks. He’s finally spared the trouble when Merlin rolls his eyes and pats the bed next to him. The moment he sits on the bed a white ball of fur emerges from the shadows and settles onto his lap. He smiles at Aithusa while Merlin shakes his head and clicks his tongue. He probably shouldn’t feel so pleased that Merlin’s bloody cat likes him.

“Did someone die?” Merlin asks.

“What?”

Merlin offers a half smile and gestures to his Quidditch robes. “With the way Lance talks, I thought the only way the fearsome Captain Pendragon would end a practice early is if one of his players croaked. And only then because you’d be down a man for the practice match.”

Arthur smiles as he scratches Aithusa behind her ears. “Oh, well, Gemma did almost get struck by lightning so I figured I’d better call it before someone actually died.” 

He doesn’t really want to think about practice now.

(“What was it like?” Gwaine asked as they headed from the Quidditch pitch back to the castle. Leon kicked the back of Gwaine’s calf but Arthur wasn’t sure what Gwaine meant. Gwaine rolled his eyes. “ _Merlin_ ,” he clarified. “What was it like when he _talked_ to the dragon?”

“Oh, erm…weird? It’s not as though I could understand him.”

Weird wasn’t exactly the right way to describe it. _Intense_ might be more accurate. Merlin’s voice had dropped several octaves and his words were more growl than anything. Pure power radiated off of him, nearly burning Arthur’s hand where it dug into his jacket. His fingers tingled at the memory.

Gwaine whistled. “Freya said his voice got all deep and the dragon even _bowed_ to him.” There was a noise like someone else had hit Gwaine but Gwaine kept talking. “I bet it was _really_ hot.”

Arthur’s blood rushed to his ears and he thought he should probably hit Gwaine for good measure, maybe even beat him to death with his Beater bat. He was saved the trouble by Leon kicking his leg again and Lance hitting Gwaine with a silencing charm.

Arthur decides not to mention any of this to Merlin.)

It’s so easy to slip into their usual dynamic, teasing and prodding. Merlin is a master of deflection but Arthur is determined not to let him.

Keeping his eyes on Aithusa Arthur asks, ”do you want to talk about it?” He’s not good at this but for Merlin, he’s willing to try.

Merlin’s quiet for so long that Arthur assumes he’s not going to answer. Arthur should take his cue and leave. Make some sort of joke to put them back on their usual footing.

“No one ever said,” Merlin whispers it and Arthur has to lean in closer to make sure he catches all the words. Merlin studies his fingers, the skin around his nails picked red like he does when he’s really upset. “Not my mum whenever I would ask about my da, not Gaius who knew him his whole life, no one ever said that he could talk to fucking dragons.” Merlin looks up with an expression so sad Arthur’s heart cracks right there in his chest. “If they didn’t mention that, then what else are they keeping from me?”

Arthur’s not sure if it’s a rhetorical question. He feels a bit thrown through time, back to when the two of them sat before a painting of an ancient castle when Merlin extended an olive branch Arthur didn’t even know he needed.

He licks his lips. “I can help you, if you want.” Merlin’s face twists just slightly in confusion. “If you want to find out what you don’t know, I’ll help.”

Merlin studies him for several minutes, a few hours, maybe an eternity. Time does funny things whenever Merlin is around. “Why?” he’s whispering again, so quiet Arthur didn’t even hear the question, just read it on his lips.

Arthur wants to laugh at the question. _Why?_ Because Merlin offered to help Arthur when Arthur was an absolute arsehole. Because Merlin has spent a not inconsequential amount of his free time trying to find a remedy for a Minister he doesn’t even support. Because Merlin stood between Arthur and enemy wizards, between Arthur and his own mother, between Arthur and _himself_ and defended him like he really believed in him.

(Because Arthur would walk to the ends of the earth just to see him smile.)

Arthur swallows. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

Merlin’s smile changes his whole face, eyes crinkling, dimples out, and the quiet voice always hissing at Arthur, pushing through his thoughts, banging at the walls of his carefully assembled denials, finally breaks to the forefront of his mind crumbling all the white-lies he’s made himself pretend to believe for the past few years.

_Friend_ is not the right word. 

\-- 

Morgana’s private lessons with Professor Nimueh haven’t been terribly private as of late. Haven’t been private at all actually since the start of term. She’s trying not to read too much into it, it doesn’t mean that Nimueh’s given up on her, right? (It probably, definitely does.) Morgana comes in during Nimueh’s open office hours with a dozen or so other students who can’t even see an image in a crystal ball. It’s a bit insulting. 

Morgana sits in the center of the Ancient Prophecies classroom but she can feel groups of students whispering around her, completing their own divinations. She’s trying very hard to keep her Pendragon temper reigned in.

Her Visions have stopped completely, ever since she started taking Gaius’ tincture, both a blessing and a curse really. Now her only chance to access anything related to Old Magic needs to come from meditation and internal reflection and a state of total peace.

It isn’t working.

“Morgana.” Nimueh’s voice is gentle. She opens her eyes and tries not to glare. “I think you’re pushing yourself too hard. How about next week instead of working on Visions we try harnessing some magic.” It’s not the first time Nimueh’s suggested it, Morgana has just always deflected. The magic feels private and sacred. She would be far too uncomfortable attempting the spells in front of a group of fourth-years who can’t even find Orion’s belt in a clear night sky. And she’s already embarrassing herself by not being able to see a ruddy Vision no need to also expose that she can’t light a candle.

She lets out a long breath. “That sounds great, professor. I think I might just head out then.”

“Actually, Morgana? Would you mind allowing these students to do a reading for you? I’m afraid my leaves tend to be hard to decipher.” Nimueh gives a sheepish smile and Morgana knows it's not really a question. 

Morgana gives what she hopes isn’t as tight a smile as it feels stretching across her skin. Nimueh winks like she sees right through her and heads over to some fifth-years struggling with the telescope. If nothing else, Morgana will get a few minutes to think and some free tea (though it tends to taste like absolute rubbish when the third-years brew it). She sits down heavily at a table with three terrified looking students and snatches a cup off the saucer without waiting for their instruction. She tries not to gag as she downs it in one go.

Leaning back, she watches as the third-years begin tentative Divinations her mind far away and racing.

Should she stop taking Gaius’ potion and risk setting her bed (and possible dorm mates) ablaze? Should she try to brew the potion of Old Magic on her own and hope she doesn’t mess it up and accidently kill herself? Or (most difficult of all) should she come clean about lying to Arthur and Merlin and everyone else for the greater part of the past year and let them know that she can touch Old Magic?

That last one probably wouldn’t help stop Agravaine but it would likely make Morgana feel less guilty.

A girl with a rather large gap in her teeth peers into Morgana’s cup, closing one eye. Morgana wants to tell her that closing an eye isn’t going to make it any clearer but she resists the urge. Who is she to criticize someone’s technique? They pass it between the three of them, looking frequently between the books on the table to the dredges in the cup.

“What do you think?” Morgana asks, trying to sound encouraging but she really has a lot to do tonight.

The girl with a gap in her teeth bites her lip. “I think there’s a forest?” Morgana clenches her fists and resists the urge to grab the cup and just do it herself.

A boy with a scab on his chin shakes his head. “No, if you turn it _this way_ , it’s a dagger.” Morgana keeps her face blank but that catches her attention. The dagger from her dream all those weeks ago? The one where she was going to kill Uther?

The third member of the group looks up from the book. “Well maybe it’s both. Forests are about being lost.” The girl looks up at Morgana. “Maybe you’re going to _lose_ a dagger.”

The boy scoffs. “Why would she even have a dagger?” He eyes Morgana wearily and she raises an eyebrow in response. He shrinks in his seat.

“The proportions are wrong for a dagger!” the first girl says. “If it was anything, which it probably _isn’t_ because I _still_ think it’s a forest, it would be a _sword_.”

A sword?

Morgana pictures another teacup from several months ago, a sword swirling in its depths piercing a stone nearly in two. A sword appearing in two separate tea readings would be quite the coincidence if she believed in that sort of thing. A puzzle piece suddenly slides into place and Morgana feels a burst of energy under her skin. “What if,” Morgana says drawing the attention of all three students, “a sword is _missing_ and someone is looking for it, but I need to find it first?” Morgana doesn’t wait to hear their opinion, throwing her things in her bag so she can race to the library before Madam Pince bars the doors.

The boy looks at his classmates. “If she got all without even looking into the cup then I don’t stand a bloody chance.”

\--

“Where is Morgana when you need her?” Arthur growls, pacing the length of their headquarters, running a hand through his hair. Merlin sits on the teacher’s desk at the front of the space and watches him.

(Not too closely, not since he gave up all hope that Arthur could ever feel the way about him that he did Arthur.

Because sometimes when he watched Arthur, Arthur looked like --

Like maybe he thought about Merlin just as much as Merlin thought about him, like maybe he felt the same way Merlin did, like maybe Merlin had hung the stars.

It was dangerous to look at Arthur too closely. Merlin started seeing things that weren’t really there.)

Arthur hadn’t been very forthcoming with answers after offering to help Merlin, whatever that would entail.

(“I wouldn’t know where to start,” Merlin had admitted, looking at Aithusa in Arthur’s lap. He still couldn’t believe the she-beast liked Arthur of all people (although, could Merlin really blame her?). “My mum and Gaius, they don’t talk about my father, ever. I always thought it must be too painful but…maybe it’s something else.”

“Kilgharrah said something.” Merlin raised an eyebrow and Arthur shook his head. “When I was looking for you. He said that dragontongue stemmed from Old Magic.”

Merlin’s pulse ticked a pace faster. “What do you think that means?”

Arthur bit his lip. “I’m not sure.” Merlin felt like Arthur wasn’t giving him the whole story. Arthur continued before Merlin could press him for more. “But I know someone who’s spent the better part of this year looking up everything she could about Old Magic.”)

The door to the classroom swings open, halting Arthur in his tracks. A tower of books enters the room. Morgana’s voice drifts from behind them. “Don’t offer to help or anything, I’ve got this.”

Arthur handedly takes the books from his sister and sets them on an open desk. “Where have you _been_? We need to talk to you.”

Morgana’s eyes light up. “I think I’ve made a breakthrough.” She stops mid-stride, looks between the two of them. “Wait, what do you need to talk to me about?”

“What sort of breakthrough?”

Morgana gestures vaguely as she throws herself on a huge cushion that had once been a broken chair. She shakes her head. “It’s going to take a bit of explaining. But you first, why were you looking for me?”

Arthur turns to Merlin, eyes soft, questioning as if asking if he’s ready (not too close, don’t look too close).

Merlin takes a deep breath. “We need to know everything you know about Old Magic.”

Morgana leans forward. “ _Why_?” Her eyes widen. “Is this because you talked to that dragon?”

Merlin almost laughs. Only Morgana could reference speaking to dragons and make it sound so dreadfully mundane. Merlin nods. “Kilgharrah said it’s a skill of Old Magic.”

Morgana’s eyes are nearly popping out of their sockets. She jumps from the cushion and dumps all the contents on her bag onto the floor ignoring Arthur’s protests. She pulls out an old book and flips through it, then races to show it to Merlin.

“Say this,” she points to a word in a swooping, slightly untidy script.

He gives her a dubious look but she just points more firmly to the word, stubbornness written in every line of her body. 

“ _Forbearnan_.”

Merlin’s magic gives a sharp crackle and every candle in the room ignites in one fell swoop, bright and near blinding.

His jaw drops.

Arthur’s jaw drops. He stares at Merlin in a mixture of wonder and awe and --

(Don’t look too close).

Morgana looks between the two of them, her face a warring battlefield of anger and fascination. “It seems," she says through gritted teeth, "as if you two have been holding out on me.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next Update will likely be Friday/Saturday!
> 
> Next Chapter Features: ANGST
> 
> Comments and kudos make my heart sing :D


	20. Chapter 20

Morgana can’t quite get a lid on her anger (a Pendragon trademark).

“Why didn’t you tell me you can use Old Magic!” She yells at Merlin.

Merlin’s face falls as he stares down at his hands in shock. He shakes his head, “I didn’t -- I never -- I thought it was just --” The flames on the candles are still licking taller than should be possible and with it she feels her own ire rise.

She distantly registers the pain on his face and anger surges sharper through her. First Arthur didn’t want to be in the prophecy and now Merlin is upset that he can tap into powerful magic? Gods what she wouldn’t _give_ for that to be her.

“Morgana!” Arthur’s voice is a sharp warning.

She rounds on him. “Did you know?”

Arthur clenches his teeth and she can practically feel his temper rising which is fine with her. She’s _itching_ for a fight. She watches her brother’s nostrils flare with a quick exhale. “That’s a rather rich question coming from you seeing as you’ve had an _instruction manual_ to accessing Old Magic the entire year and didn’t feel the need to share it with us!” He stops and studies her a minute before taking a few steps closer and pushing a finger into her sternum. “That’s why you were setting things on fire! It wasn’t just the nightmares, it was _this_.” He shakes his head. “Can’t _believe_ you’ve been lying all this time.”

She sticks up her chin in defiance. “Slytherin.” He scowls and she scowls back. “ _Did you know_ ,” she hisses, betrayal coloring everything else for just a minute. She knew he and Merlin were closer (closer than they would likely admit) but the idea that he would know Merlin could access this magic and keep it from her is just devastating. (Hypocritical, but devastating.)

Arthur crosses his arms. “I didn’t know it was Old Magic.”

“Neither did I,” Merlin’s voice is small.

Morgana stalks to stand in front of him. “Then _what_ did you think?”

“I just thought I was really good at wandless magic! Loads of wizards are! Why would I immediately assume I could use ancient magic that hasn’t been seen in a thousand years? I’m not an egomaniac.” His explanation is not quite thorough enough to soothe Morgana (particularly because _she_ thought she had been able to use an ancient magic). He shakes his head at her. “You’ve seen me use my wandless magic before, I can’t control it very well. Why didn’t _you_ tell _me_ I had Old Magic.”

Morgana doesn’t love that the blame has turned to her, it’s much more satisfying when she’s throwing it on others. “I didn’t know,” she says honestly. She swallows. “I’ve never seen it work the way it’s supposed to.” She gestures to the candles. “It’s never done that for me.”

Arthur barks a laugh. “ _Of course_ you’ve tried to use it.”

“Nimueh helped! That’s part of what my lessons were about! I thought if I could control the Visions, it would help me access the magic! Nimueh says Old Magic is coming back with me --” A horrible realization cuts through her like a knife. “But she’s wrong,” she whispers as she looks at Merlin. “It’s not back with me, it’s back with _you_.”

Jealousy is boiling so acidic up her throat she nearly chokes on it.

“Morgana --” Merlin starts but she shakes her head blinking away tears.

“It’s not me, it’s you. I thought -- the prophecy -- you must be _Magic Itself_.” She bites her lip to stop her eyes from stinging, tastes the bitter trace of blood on her tongue. _Of fucking course_ this was how things were playing out. She never should have thought differently. “And I’m not in it at all.” She gives a hollow chuckle. “I’m not a Scorpio and I sure as hell don’t have the Transfiguration skills to raise the dead.” 

Arthur shakes his head at her. “Why would you even _want_ to be in this prophecy, Morgana? It doesn’t exactly sound like a laugh.”

“You don’t get it, Arthur!” She snaps. “You don’t understand what it’s like to not be the best and have to fight and work so _hard_ to still finish dead last! I just thought for the first time maybe I was just as powerful as everyone else! Is that so _wrong_?” The last word is shrill as she steps toward the blackboard and draws a line from Merlin’s name to _Magic Itself_.

Arthur’s face is shocked and Merlin looks so _hurt_ but she needs to leave or else she’ll cut his wounds deeper. Because that’s what she does when she’s upset, butcher everyone around her until the scars she gives them are deep enough that they’ll fester each time they think of coming to her aid, deep enough that they’ll learn to leave her alone. 

Like father, like daughter.

She grabs the book from where Merlin dropped in shock and hurls it at him. “This will be more useful to you.”

“Morgana --” Arthur steps toward her but she just raises a hand.

“I just -- I need -- time. We’ll talk later.”

And then she storms from the room and races down the stairs.

\--

The silence in the room following Morgana’s exit is near suffocating. Ever since he spoke the ancient word it was like his magic was a living beast inside of him, swirling around searching for cracks in the prison that is his body. If he thought it was powerful before it was _nothing_ compared to the dizzying sensation at the moment, stinging at his skin, sizzling in his veins, making the colors of the world brighter and sharper.

Merlin wants to turn back time and never learn he has this magic, lock it away inside himself forever where it can’t hurt anyone. Because that’s what it does, doesn’t it? It’s sharp and violent and stinging and sets the world on fire and destroys everything around him and pushes away everyone away and --

He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Arthur’s hand closes around his.

“Merlin?”

Something horrible twists in his stomach as a realization settles over his skin. “They knew.”

Arthur is giving him a soft look full of concern and worry. “What?”

Merlin bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, to keep the magic _inside_ , to gain control. “My mum and Gaius, _they knew_. The very first thing they did when they saw me use my magic was tell me not to let anyone else ever know.” He shakes his head. “They didn’t ever want me to know the truth.”

Arthur seems at a loss for words, searching Merlin’s face as if the right words will be written in the moisture crowding the corner of his eyes and the taught line of his jaw as he clenches his teeth hard enough to make them shatter.

Merlin takes in a sharp breath. “I’m going to go talk to Gaius.” He lets out an empty laugh. “Was supposed to anyway but I’ve been putting it off. I reckon it’s about time I get some answers.”

He jumps up, not realizing Arthur’s hand is still gripped around his and it pulls him back. “Are you sure that’s the best idea? You don’t want to wait until…”

Merlin raises an eyebrow. Until he’s not angry? Until this makes sense? Because he doesn’t think either of those things are in the near future. “Are you coming?”

Arthur gives him a soft look. “You want me to come?”

Merlin flushes, realizing what he’s asking. “You don’t have to --“

“No, I want to.”

They both stare at each other for longer than strictly necessary, a tense charged _something_ brewing in the space between them. Merlin swallows, takes a breath, and steels himself. “Well, let’s go.”

The walk to the office happens in a daze. Merlin blinks in surprise as they stop before the door to Gaius’ office in record time and fiddles with the edges of his sleeves. Arthur puts his hand on the handle of the door and raises an eyebrow. Merlin nods.

“Merlin!” Gaius sounds so relieved to see him and it _hurts_. Even when he’s mad at Gaius, the idea that he could cause the man any worry makes him ache. But he feels the heat from Arthur’s shoulder next to him and that calms him down. Gaius looks between the two of them. “Is…everything alright?”

No. 

“I can talk to dragons.” Gaius visibly pales and Merlin takes an angry step forward. “And _the dragon_ that I _talked to_ said my father could speak dragontongue.” Gaius says nothing, just stands still as a statue. “And you _knew_.” He chokes on the last word and violently shakes his head, tears pouring freely now but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Merlin --”

Merlin grinds his teeth. “You knew I could do this. This _Old Magic,_ ” he spits out. Gaius pales further which is more damning than anything else. The last vestiges of hope that maybe there was a normal explanation for all of this, maybe he was just like everyone else, slip away as Gaius all but confirms all his worst fears. 

And then he realizes, he’s seen Gaius wear this face before. He remembers a conversation held in this very office several months ago. “That’s why my magic reacted the way it did when I touched the charm that was used to poison Uther Pendragon, wasn’t it? It recognized the same magic, _Old Magic_ , but it was wrong, _dark_.”

Gaius swallows and tries again. “Merlin --“ 

But Merlin’s not done.

“Why didn’t you _tell me_ ,” he hisses. His eyes sting as he looks at the man who he always thought of as a father. “You’ve _lied_ to me“ he furiously wipes his cheeks and steadies his voice. “Why?” He can sense Arthur’s worried stare, Arthur who hates even the _word_ feelings, whose standing by Merlin and watching him break apart at the seams. Gaius gives him a long stare. Merlin shakes his head. “No more lies. Just tell me. I have a _right_ to know.”

“Because,” Gaius’ voice is unsteady when he speaks, “I made a promise to your father, that I would never tell you.” Gaius takes a wheezing breath. “It was an _Unbreakable Vow_ , Merlin. I still…” the words are choked from Gaius and he can’t finish the sentence, as if a magic vise has constricted is throat.

Anger bubbles acidic up his throat. How _convenient_. Gaius underwent the only thing in the entire world that would stop him from answering Merlin’s questions. A promise not to speak of something under the penalty of death. “Then who should I talk to? Who can actually answer my questions?”

“I can’t -- the Vow.” Gaius sits down heavily, his breath coming short. “I’m sorry Merlin -- I wish -- I wish I had never made it.” His eyes are wet and something squeezes Merlin’s heart. “It was always for you.”

Merlin’s shaking again. His breath comes faster and faster, vision tunneling and once more it’s Arthur’s hand that brings him back to himself with a gentle squeeze to his shoulder. 

He needs to leave. Merlin lets out a quick breath and turns to the door. 

“Merlin,” Gaius says, his voice like a plea. He stops without turning around.

Merlin clenches and unclenches his fist, feels his magic beneath his skin.

“Merlin --”

“I just --” Morgana’s words from earlier ring in his ears, “I need time.”

And then he leaves, without turning around so Gaius can’t see his tears.

\--

Morgana rests her head against the door of Nimueh’s office, as if perhaps she’ll receive a message through the thick grains of wood.

The office, though unlocked, had been empty, devoid of the professor who always gave her a bit of comfort. Who, despite evidence to the contrary, assured Morgana that she was _special_. The only thing that greeted her upon entering was a cauldron boiling away on the sill of the window with huge purple bubbles popping on the surface lit by the light of a full moon.

So she stands alone, head pressed against the door, not sure where to turn.

It’s so _ironic_ she should have seen it coming. She works _all year_ to solve a god forsaken prophecy and then she doesn’t even get to see it through. Even if the Daughter of Pluto _is_ a person (not a Magical Artifact like some sort of statue or talisman or _sword_ ) it’s not going to be _her_. So Merlin and Arthur get to go forth and herald in a brilliant new age of magic and leave her behind.

From a distant place, she knows she’s being petty. Knows the black charred piece of her heart is aching, leaking, and poisoning the rest of her. Logically, she can still help (she’ll have to, given how abysmal Merlin and Arthur’s Divination skills are) but she won’t be the hero. She’ll barely be a footnote when people tell the story.

(And why would she? A girl who can’t even turn a mouse into a teacup or make sense of a nightmare couldn’t possibly save the world. She isn’t _worthy_ enough to be a part of the prophecy.

That’s her father talking, but gods if she doesn’t believe him.)

“I believe she’s out,” a soft voice says behind her. “Always best to fetch Nightshade on a full moon.”

She sighs and turns to the portrait. “Sir Cadogan.”

He bows, “Lady Morgana.” He studies her for a moment, she’s not quite sure what he finds. “You appear to be upset, m’lady.”

An understatement.

Morgana lets out a breath she’s been holding all year. “Do you believe in reincarnation, Sir Cadogan?”

The knight looks sad and more serious than she thinks she’s ever seen him, not a trace of humor in the lines at the corner of his eyes. “Is this about your namesake?”

It hadn’t been. It was one of things she’s been carefully avoiding thinking about. But if Arthur was _King fucking Arthur_ then there’s a small horrible chance that she’s Morgan le Fay.

Depending on which stories are to be believed, it’s a rather disturbing thought. But all of them agree on one point: Morgan le Fay is one of the most evil wizards of all time.

She tilts her head. “You knew them all, right? King Arthur and the Knights and Wizards of the Round Table?” Sir Cadogan nods. “Do you really think there’s a chance they’re all coming back?” She swallows thickly. “Do you think I’m Morgan le Fay?”

Sir Cadogan gives her a small smile. “Much as I would love to see my old friends, I don’t believe that’s quite the way it works. And I do not believe you are Morgan le Fay.”

Morgana crosses her arms. “How do you figure?” How can he know that everyone isn’t just some reborn version of their past self. How can he be so sure she’s not destined to tread down the path of villainy when the evidence is stacking up and mounting against her. When the dark piece of her soul gets fed and grows _stronger_. “How do you know I’m not _her_?”

“Because _you_ are Morgana Pendragon and you get to decide who that person will be.”

\--

“Merlin, it’s almost midnight,” Arthur tries to plea but Merlin is a radiating force of nature, anger written in each and every line of his body, magic coming off him in sizzling crackles.

“He’ll be up,” Merlin says without stopping. “Or I’ll wake him.”

Arthur doesn’t know what to do and he’s being pulled in a million different directions. A part of him wants to go after Morgana and comfort her. He’s never seen his sister look so broken and insecure and it was eating him alive with worry. He also wants to yell at her for being so _ridiculous_ that she wants to be in a prophecy which almost certainly ends in nothing but death. And another part of him is worrying about Merlin. If he didn’t know how to comfort Sad Merlin he has _no idea_ how to calm down Angry Merlin, storming through the castle, magic sizzling in the air around him.

“Who will be up?” Arthur asks but the answer becomes clear as they turn the corner to the Transfiguration Wing.

Merlin looks at him at last, small and broken. “I think your sister’s right.” He doesn’t say her name and the painful knot in Arthur’s chest gets tighter. “All of this,” he continues softly, “has to be connected even if we aren’t seeing it. If you think your father knew about the prophecy and Gaius knew about the prophecy then I’d wager it might very well be the thing that ended their tenure in your father’s employment.” Merlin bites his lip. “You don’t have to come.”

Arthur shrugs. “What’s life without a little adventure?”

Merlin spares him a small smile that Arthur wants to take and keep in his pocket and protect it forever. It’s gone too soon and with a sigh, Merlin turns to the door and pushes it open without knocking.

Kilgharrah sits before the fire, cup of tea in hand, as if he’s been expecting them.

Or expecting someone else.

The office is almost cave-like, more stone exposed than any other office Arthur had ever seen, not a rug or painting adorn the space in any sort of attempt to make it homier. The only light comes from the fire in the hearth.

“Emrys,” Kilgharrah greets, not turning around. “And the young Pendragon wizard.”

In the dark of the room, Merlin’s cheeks look sharper, lined with shadows and he looks so much older than he is, weighed down by this new burden. “You know why I’m here.” It’s not a question, and he doesn’t ask it that way.

Kilgharrah laughs, a low rumble. “I believe you think you have questions.” Merlin looks over at Arthur with an annoyed huff. Kilgharrah is cryptic enough when he was actually trying to teach them, a Kilgharrah trying to be clever is going to be _annoying_.

Merlin strides across the room until he’s stood right in front of their professor. Arthur skirts along the wall, letting Merlin take the lead, waiting for Merlin’s cue.

“You knew my father.”

Kilgharrah’s gnarled fingers curl around his mug. “Yes.”

Merlin shakes his head. “You never said.”

Kilgharrah gives a lazy shrug. “You never asked.”

Arthur watches as Merlin’s nostrils flare. “Well I’m asking now.” He pauses and clenches his jaw. “Could my father use Old Magic?”

“Yes, but not as well as you.” Kilgharrah clears his throat and Arthur has the distinct impression of a fire crackling. “There are many with an aptitude for Old Magic but few who can harness it as you can. It typically manifests as wandless magic, though it can also take the form of Sight or dragon tongue, or in very rare cases all three, just as it did in the Great Warlock Merlin the Prince of Enchantments himself.” Kilgharrah takes a sip of his tea. “In more ignorant circles it is referred to as devil’s magic.”

Merlin seems to digest the information. “Why?”

Kilgharrah tilts his head. “I do not understand the question.”

“Why _me_?” The anguish in his voice is harsh and it feels as though the temperature in the room drops several degrees.

“We do not get to choose our destinies, young Emrys. They are chosen long before we are born. We merely walk the road it places us on.”

Merlin shakes his head. “No, I think that’s what people tell themselves to help them sleep at night and rationalize why this world is so _shitty_.”

Kilgharrah laughs again. “An enlightened perspective that will serve you well. Though believe me, if I had any hand in choosing who would herald in the age of Old Magic, I would not have selected 16 year old children.” He looks at Arthur for the first time and Arthur freezes like a pixie pinned with a wand. “Though I suppose you will be 17 before the prophecy has come to pass.”

“It’s true then?” Arthur asks, stepping forward. “Merlin and I are supposed to...save the world.” It sounds so stupid when he says it like that.

It sounds stupid anyway if he’s being honest.

Kilgharrah gestures to the two chairs set up next to him and Arthur once again gets the feeling that he was expecting them, expecting _someone_. Arthur takes one and after a few moments of defiant glaring, Merlin takes a seat as well.

“There was a prophecy spoken before either of you were born, though I believe you already know this,” Kilgharrah says.

Merlin crosses his arms. “Yeah, something about the Circle of Time and the Once and Future King and paying the price of freedom.”

Kilgharrah looks between them. “Well, that is one piece of it.” He stares at Arthur for a few moments and Arthur can hear the click of a piece of a puzzle sliding home.

“The prophecy about my mother is also involved in the one about Old Magic?” He asks.

Kilgharrah quirks an eyebrow. “They are not only involved, young Pendragon, they are one in the same.” Do they only have a piece of a full prophecy? Arthur feels his eyes widen and some of the tension seems to drain from Merlin. “Perhaps you are not as aware as I previously thought.”

“Then tell us,” Merlin says through clenched teeth.

“There are certain things I cannot say,” Kilgharrah says simply.

“The Vow?” Merlin asks.

“Among other things.”

Merlin lets out a slightly exasperated growl. Kilgharrah merely raises his eyebrows in what might be amusement. The old professor stands and makes his way over to an ancient trunk and pulls out a small photo. He passes it to Merlin who studies it with something like reverence. Arthur spares it one glance. There’s his father and mother nervously glancing around the picture, on the other side is Gaius and Kilgharrah and a tall man with a vaguely familiar appearance and Arthur realizes it must be Merlin’s father, his arms are crossed and expression sour, in the middle of everything (as he always seems to be as of late) is Geoffrey Monmouth looking between the groups and occasionally out of frame, as if someone has hidden themselves outside the picture.

Merlin’s hands are shaking as he looks at the photo but Arthur is watching Kilgharrah. This is a tactic straight out of Uther Pendragon’s manipulator repertoire: Give them something of emotional value to earn trust, make them feel like they owe you something. The man is a master manipulator and he clearly has an idea of how he wants this interaction to play out. Arthur doesn’t know his motives but it’s clear he wants them on their backfoot, in his debt.

Arthur decides to make things difficult (a Pendragon trademark).

“Where’s Geoffrey Monmouth?” Arthur asks. Similar to Gaius, Kilgharrah’s tell is his bushy eyebrows twitching. Arthur leans forward. “He’s in hiding because he was with all of you when you heard the prophecy. He was the one who cast the Unbreakable Vow that swore you all to silence, so he’s the only one who would be able to discuss the contents.”

There’s a few moments of silence while Kilgharrah and Arthur stare each other down. “You certainly are your father’s son.”

It’s a dig, calculated to throw Arthur off. Kilgharrah certainly learned a thing or two from Uther Pendragon. Arthur ignores the painful feeling like a punch to his gut and instead narrows his eyes. “You took the Vow too. That’s why you’re being so mysterious and cryptic. You can’t actually tell us anything.” He tilts his head. “So why are you pretending like you can?”

Kilgharrah takes a long drink before setting the teacup on the table. Arthur spares a moment to wonder if Kilgharrah uses loose leaves in his tea and how difficult it would be to smuggle the mug out and the likeliness that Morgana would even be willing to read the leaves before Kilgharrah says, “you are also your mother’s son.”

This is just as calculated as the dig. Compliment him to make him complacent. “What are you after, professor?”

“I want what everyone wants, peace.”

His face is expressionless save the jump in an eyebrow. A challenge. A riddle for them to solve to work around the Unbreakable Vow and ask questions he is actually capable of answering. “Gaius doesn’t want you talking to us?” Arthur asks but he already knows the answer. Kilgharrah nods just a tick. “And neither did my father or anyone else.” Another nod.

Arthur sits back and tries to work though the hidden messages Kilgharrah has given thus far. The photo is a show of trust, to show that he’d want to give them more but can’t due to a magical contract, keeping him silent. But the man probably has a dozen photos of his and Merlin’s dead parents so this one must be significant because everyone in it knows about the prophecy, knows about Arthur and Merlin’s role in it. And the only reason they would keep it a secret…

“Peace isn’t a good time for politics,” Arthur says, repeating words his father said to Morgana more times than he could count. Kilgharrah merely inclines his head slightly. Arthur can feel Merlin watching him, trying to catch up to where Arthur has already gone. “My father wouldn’t want Old Magic to come back because it would give Magical Beings other than wizards more power.” And his father had certainly made a career putting those with “lesser magic” in their place.

Kilgharrah sighs as if weighing his words carefully. “While I’m sure there is truth in that statement, I do not believe it was Uther Pendragon’s most pressing concern.”

Maybe not, but it could be Agravaine’s.

“Our safety,” Merlin whispers, not looking up from the picture. “The Vow was so we would never know of our fate and it wouldn’t have to come to pass.” Merlin swallows. “Just because something is predicted doesn’t mean it's going to come true.”

For the first time, Kilgharrah looks like me might be just a little sad. “Some prophecies are told by Time itself.”

“But Merlin’s right,” Arthur argues. “It’s not like the prophecy has our names in it. How are you so sure it’s about us?” Unless their names are in the piece they don’t have.

“Perhaps it isn’t.” There is not a trace of conviction in Kilgharrah’s voice.

Merlin clenches his teeth. “So either me or Arthur is going to die?” 

Well, Arthur’s certainly not going to let it be _Merlin_ and judging by the look on Merlin’s face, he’s having similar thoughts about him.

“We can’t always know how destiny will unravel.”

Merlin turns to Kilgharrah with a fierce glare. “So first it’s ‘we have no choice and destiny is certain’ and now it’s’ destiny is unknowable and precarious?’ Which is it?”

A long pause. “Destiny is a paradox.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Unbelievable. Should have known you’d give more riddles than answers.” If Arthur had any doubts about how upset Merlin is, his disrespect for their professor has really put those to rest.

Kilgharrah doesn’t seem offended, merely raises one eyebrow. “Is that all of your questions?”

Merlin swallows. “Did my father really die while helping dragons?”

Arthur watches as Kilgharrah relaxes into the chair, as if the Vow was keeping him held up by puppeteer strings but this question doesn’t fall into the domain. “Yes, there was an accident involving some dragons who had been held captive. There were a fair few witnesses as well. Several lives were lost.”

Merlin swallows. “But how could we know the prophecy wasn’t about him if he could use Old Magic? How do you know it’s not about someone else with the aptitude? Why are you so sure it’s _me_?”

Kilgharrah's old and lined face grows somber and that expression scares Arthur more than anything they’ve heard. “Because _you_ , Merlin, are still here.”

\--

Morgana’s waiting for him, sitting behind the teacher’s desk in the evil lair, hands clasped together, the epitome of stoicism. It makes Merlin’s heart ache.

He’s worried he’s lost her, maybe forever. She’s always had one foot in a realm none but she could see and he’s terrified she’s decided to step through the door completely.

He softly closes the door and leans against it, not sure if he’s welcome to enter. But it’s been a long night and he’s not in the mood to ask for permission.

“I really didn’t know.”

Morgana gives a terse nod, eyes still blank and hard. Merlin doesn’t know what to say to make it right. 

A small part of him is angry that Morgana is throwing a tantrum because she doesn’t get to be the center of attention all while Merlin’s entire world is shattering around him. His father, Kilgharrah, Gaius, even _his mother_ all knew he was at the center of a prophecy and never said a fucking word and the magic he’s tried _so hard_ to control and suppress is actually one of the most powerful magics the world has seen and, oh yeah, he can also talk to _dragons_.

But he quiets it, for now.

“Do you want to talk?” He asks.

Morgana looks down, face still expressionless. “I just -- I just hate always being so useless.”

Merlin snorts and Morgana’s head snaps up to his, eyes flashing. At least he got an emotion. It means she’s still here. “Morgana, I know you have a flair for the dramatic, but never in your life could anyone describe you as useless.”

She shakes her head. “Well what am I supposed to do? I thought my purpose was to harness Old Magic and fix my Visions but _you’ve_ got the Old Magic covered and my Visions never showed anything useful in the first place.”

“Morgana,” Merlin says, still not sure if she’s having him on, “you can’t be serious.”

“This isn’t a joke, _Merlin_!” The crack on his name is how he knows she isn’t faking anything.

He crosses the room to stand before her, slowly and hesitantly, the way he once approached a lost thestral at the start of the year. “You do realize that _you_ are the reason we got the Charm from the manor, and a replacement necklace for Uther, and even _know_ about the prophecy in the first place, right?” He asks gently. She doesn’t change her expression and Merlin shakes his head. “If it was just Arthur and I doing this we would still be breaking into the Restricted Section and Uther would probably be dead and we would have no idea that Arthur was even a target.” He gives her an intense look. “ _You_ are the reason we are as successful as we have been.”

She glares, eyes wet and red. “You’re just saying that,” she snarls. It's a classic Morgana defense mechanism. Raise your spikes to sting anyone who tries to get too close.

Merlin slowly makes his way around the desk. “I’m really not. You’ve seen how Arthur and I work together, it’s a bit of a disaster.”

He’s awarded with the smallest of involuntary smiles. “You’re both idiots.”

He nods. “Exactly, so the fact that you _aren’t_ already gives you quite the advantage.”

She takes in a deep breath and on the release she seems to deflate. “I’m sorry I got so angry.” Her eyes are back on her hands. “I’ve been selfish. I can’t imagine how you must feel.” She swallows and looks up at him. “I should have been a better friend.”

Merlin shrugs. “I’m used to it, I’m friends with your brother.” He gives her a serious look. “Magic is only a part of you Morgana, the rest of you is just as brilliant and important.”

She rolls her eyes but the smile remains. “Did Gwen write that down for you?”

Merlin scratches his neck. “Not as such. We did run through some mock scenarios but…” Morgana seems to laugh in spite of herself. “I don’t know what I’m doing with the magic, it just -- happens. But you’ve been studying it all year.” She furrows her brow. “Maybe -- if you’re willing -- you could help me.”

Her eyes light up. “Maybe that’s what I’m supposed to do.”

“Sod this ‘supposed to’ nonsense!” Merlin quite frankly has had enough of destiny for the time being. “It’s time you start doing what _you_ want to do, not what you think the stars have in store.” He gives her a heavy look. “It’s time you start living for yourself Morgana Pendragon. Give the stars a break.”

She looks like Merlin just told her to murder her pet owl but after a few minutes she gives a shallow nod. “Alright. I can promise to _try_.” She puts an unnecessary amount of emphasis on the last word letting Merlin know she is not going to try at all but he smiles in spite of himself.

For the first time he looks at the drawing in front of her. “What’s this? Does it have anything to do with all those books you carted in? More ‘light reading’ for the club?”

Her eyes light up and once again she’s Morgana Pendragon: the confident, sure, slightly terrifying girl he knows and loves. “It’s like I said, I think I made a breakthrough. I believe I know what Agravaine is after.” She turns the paper around and Merlin studies the long lines of the blade, meticulously drawn in Morgana’s own hand. “Well, sort of. I think he’s looking for a _sword_.” There’s a buzzing sort of noise in Merlin’s ears as he feels his eyes go huge. Catching the look on his face she quirks a brow and adds, “you wouldn’t happen to have any idea what the sword may be, do you?”

Merlin licks his lips. Coincidences are a piece of destiny he might still need to believe in. “Have you ever heard of the Legend of Excalibur?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next Chapter will probably be up Monday/Tuesday.
> 
> Next Chapter features: A return to our usual fun and shenanigans with a new club member, magic lessons by Morgana Pendragon, and a Potions lesson in Amortentia ;)
> 
> Comments and kudos are the best :D


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: I'm a dumbass. 
> 
> So I'm going to be moving next week and my garbage brain just forgot to account for the fact that I need to physically pack all my worldly possessions. Which means all the time I thought I was going to be spending finishing this and editing is now going to be spent packing. The worst part is that not only will there not be two chapters this week but the next chapter might not be posted until I finish moving. (There is a chance that I will actually get more done as I procrastinate said packing but I wanted to warn you in case that doesn't happen.)
> 
> I am very sorry that my hubris got the best of me and I promised too much too soon! Please accept this beast of a chapter as some form of apology!

“So,” Gwaine says from his position lounging in a wingback chair before a very cracked window, the frost clinging with all its might. Lance and Gwen sit on either of his sides while Morgana rests in her usual perch on the teacher’s desk. Arthur is lurking just a touch ominously in the shadows. He’s far more annoyed about inviting Gwaine than even _Morgana_. “You and Arthur are in some prophecy?”

“Yep,” Merlin answers, fingers clasped before him.

“That you may or may not know the full contents of?”

“Correct.”

“And Agravaine knows about it?” Merlin hums his assent. “But you don’t know if he knows more or less than you?”

Merlin can practically feel the Pendragon twins stiffening and readying for a fight so he quickly says, “that’s right,” in the hopes that Gwaine will get on with it.

Gwaine evidently has other ideas as he leans back and points a finger at Merlin. “And you have this super badass power that’s going to save all of magic forever?”

Merlin furrows his brow and in a high-pitched voice says, “well -- I don’t --”

Gwaine ignores him and cranes his neck around to shoot Arthur a look. “And that’s why Agravaine made himself Minister and is hunting Arthur? To stop you from releasing the super charged magic?”

Merlin purses his lips. “Not sure I would call it ‘hunting’ exactly or use the phrase ‘super charged’…”

“And Gaius, Kilgharrah, and your dad and Arthur’s dad are old mates who have sworn each other to secrecy and forbidden each other to talk about it? And the only one of them who didn’t take the Unbreakable Vow is Geoffrey Monmouth and he’s ghosting everyone?”

“Again, I don’t know if I would phrase it that way…”

“And _somehow_ a sword, that may or may not be the famous sword Excalibur, fits into all of this?”

Merlin grimaces, when he puts it _that_ way... “Well, it’s like I said I think Kilgharrah was trying to give us clues since he couldn’t tell us directly…” 

(It was the theory that currently made the most sense to all of them but Morgana. The reason Kilgharrah told them the story at Christmas, the reason Kilgharrah had shown them the picture, the reason he’s been lurking in their peripheral all year. He’s trying to indirectly (albeit annoyingly) help them solve the prophecy.

Morgana had crossed her arms and said, “or he could be just as guilty as Agravaine and there’s a race between the two of them.”

No one else had shared her suspicions.)

Gwaine leans forward. “And _our job_ is to stop Agravaine from getting the sword. Because somehow that will fix everything?”

Morgana huffs behind Merlin (he’s surprised she’s kept her annoyance in check for so long). “If you’re going to be so bloody pessimistic feel free to piss right off. We were doing _just fine_ without you.”

Gwaine rather dramatically feigns offense. “ _Excuse_ you, my dear friend M _er_ lin invited me. And I was just making sure we’re all on the same page.” He looks around expectantly. “Did I forget anything?”

Merlin scratches his neck. “No, I think you just about covered it.” Merlin runs through all the events that have happened over the past school year when he suddenly remembers something. “Oh, I forgot to mention, this old lady at St. Mungo’s gave me a prophecy of sorts. She said that the ‘circle of time is nearing its rotation.’ I think it was a warning.”

Arthur and Morgana are both looking at Merlin like he’s a total idiot. Even Gwen and Lance shake their heads and Merlin feels himself shrinking before their gaze. “Merlin,” Morgana grits out. “Why haven’t you mentioned this _sooner_?”

Merlin juts out his chin. “I forgot! There was a lot going on that day! And every day since, _actually_! And old people say weird things to me all the time!”

Gwaine nods sagely. “Because they can sense your destiny.”

“Right -- wait, no -- what?”

Gwaine looks around. “That’s a thing!” He holds up his hands defensively. “I swear it is!”

Morgana takes in a sharp breath. “Merlin. What else did this old lady say?”

Merlin scratches his neck. “Er just that…the king was in danger and I have to save him and I can’t trust a dragon or a Seer and I have to journey to the den of dragons to restore balance...so now that I’m saying it out loud I maybe should have realized I was in the prophecy sooner…” Morgana is baring her teeth. “I forgot!”

Morgana shakes her head and points between him and Arthur. “I fear for the outcome of this prophecy with you two in it.”

Arthur looks affronted. “I wasn’t with him!”

“You’ve done plenty of other stupid things!”

“Wait!” Merlin interrupts. “Excalibur.”

Morgana makes her eyes comically wide. “Did you also forget that she gave you the bloody sword?”

Merlin flashes a rude gesture. “ _No_. But the last thing the woman said to me was that I have to find Excal -- and then she kind of cut off but I bet she was going to say Excalibur.”

Morgana mumbles something that sounds like “ _unbelievable_ ” but Gwaine claps his hands, “great! Even more evidence to support your case. So what are we going to do?”

And isn’t that the million galleon question.

“We,” Morgana nearly growls, “are going to find the sword.”

“Yeah,” Gwaine says, “actually figured out that bit myself. The question is how? Do you have any idea where it is?” He opens his eyes wide for emphasis. “ _At all_?”

This time Morgana does growl and Gwen jumps in before she tears Gwaine apart. “Well, Agravaine is looking through Avalon Manor and the Ministry Vaults. And if Uther Pendragon doesn’t make a full recovery in...what’s the date?”

“February 2nd,” Lance answers.

Gwen gives him a small smile. “Right. So if he doesn’t make a recovery in just a few weeks --”

“Twenty days,” Arthur says from his perch in the shadows.

“ _Right_ ,” she says again. “So if he doesn’t make a recovery in twenty days then Agravaine will be able to look through your family vaults as well.”

Gwaine crosses his arms. “Think we can rule out the Ministry.”

Lance shoots him a surprised look. “How do you figure?”

Gwaine waves his hand. “He’d have found it by now. Over holidays my dad and sister kept talking about how he’s recruited all junior level employees to re-catalogue the Magical Artifacts. He’s having them do it _twice_.” Gwaine shakes his head. “If it was there, he’d have found it the first time. He’s getting desperate.”

Merlin groans. “I really don’t want to have to go to Gringotts. The trip to St. Mungo’s was disastrous enough.”

"It's probably not at Gringotts either," Morgana adds. "If Uther did know about the prophecy and he knew about the sword, then he would have hid it somewhere no one would ever think to look."

Lance looks between everyone. "So...we somehow know less than we did when this meeting started? Should we just set out on a quest to find the lost Kingdom of Camelot?"

“What if," Arthur says, "we don’t have to go anywhere?”

Morgana makes an annoyed noise. “Arthur, can you stop brooding and join the class please?”

Arthur scowls but comes forward to sit on a desk. “Where is the safest place to hide something besides Gringotts?” When no one answers Arthur huffs and snaps, “what if it’s at Hogwarts?”

“That would be lovely,” Morgana says. “But are you basing this on pure unbridled hope or do you actually believe that?”

A memory hits Merlin as he stares at Arthur. “Earlier this year,” Merlin says, realization sweeping over him in a tidal wave, “we heard people looking for a sword.” It was months ago, during that first fateful night when they broke into the Restricted Section. Arthur nods and Merlin scrunches up his face to recall what they said. “It was two men. They mentioned Agravaine’s assistant’s name. I didn’t realize it at the time.” He snaps his fingers. “And that night the club was almost caught --” Merlin blushes to the tips of his ears and can’t finish the sentence.

(Merlin thinks about that particular night more often than he likely should.)

Arthur (also looking just a touch red) finishes for him. “Someone was looking through the suits of armor in the Northwestern corridor.”

Gwaine rubs his hands together. “Now we’re getting somewhere!” He jumps up and heads to the blackboard ignoring Morgana’s menacing glare. In hindsight, perhaps it wasn’t Merlin’s best idea to include Gwaine in the festivities. But he really hadn’t expected such animosity from the Pendragon twins. 

Gwaine writes the word “suspects” in an untidy scrawl. The board is looking less like a list of tasks and more like a string of conspiracy theories. “They’d have to be students. No one else can come and go from the castle.”

Morgana clicks her tongue. “Or professors…”

Arthur scoffs. “Morgana, if this is about how you don’t like Kilgharrah --”

“He isn’t trustworthy!”

Merlin interrupts. “No one is saying he is but it wasn’t Kilgharrah. I would have recognized his voice.” Merlin also didn’t trust Kilgharrah but he did firmly believe he was at least opposed to Agravaine.

Gwaine waves a hand impatiently. “So we’re looking for students who are frequently out of bounds, lurk around armor stands, and/or have an unnatural interest in medieval weaponry.” He tilts his head. “That last bit sounds like Leon but I really doubt it's him. Speaking of, he and Elyan are going to be really upset when they learn about the club.”

“It’s. Not. A. Club,” Arthur growls. “And no one is going to tell them!”

“Er --” Gwen interrupts. “I know a few students who’ve been out of bounds a fair few times this year." They all turn to look at her expectantly. "Cenred and Valiant. I’ve written them up each at least four separate times for being out after curfew this term alone. Valiant even had to meet with McGonagall.” Gwen widens her eyes dramatically. “He’s on the cusp of _expulsion_.”

“Valiant got caught the same night Mrs. Norris found us,” Merlin says, remembering the boy waiting outside Gaius’ door after the World’s Most Embarrassing Conversation.

Morgana nods. “And Cenred was wandering the corridors the night I took the Old Magic Potion, he was in the hospital ward with me. I think a suit of armor fell on him when the castle cracked.” She tilts her head and adds, “not that he didn’t deserve it.”

“Wait,” Gwaine says, looking around the room, “what potion? I thought there was an earthquake.”

Lance pats his shoulder. “I’ll fill you in later.”

“All right,” Arthur says. “Let’s _assume_ it’s them, what are we going to do? How are we going to prove it?”

“More like, how are we going to make sure we don’t just look in all the places they’ve already covered,” Gwaine corrects.

“We could interrogate them and use memory charms so they don’t remember,” Merlin suggests. Everyone (save Morgana) looks at him in horror. “No? Too far?”

Morgana laughs at him. “This is why we’re friends Merlin. Why don’t we _start_ with following them and save capture and extortion as a last resort.”

Gwen grabs huge handfuls of her hair. “We are done with blackmail! That went horribly last time!”

“Wait,” Gwaine says, “who did you _blackmail_? Did I miss _all_ the exciting stuff?”

Arthur ignores him. “We can all trade off, take turns following them and eavesdropping. Maybe we can catch them corresponding with Cedric. If we know for sure they’re up to something, we’ll figure out how to make sure we don’t search places they’ve already been.”

“You know,” Gwaine says, “I think I might have just the thing to help with a little espionage.”

Lance groans. “Not again,” as Gwaine whips a pair of omnioculars out of his robes.

Morgana shakes her head. “I don’t know what’s going to be more annoying, Gwaine pretending he’s a Muggle Spy or the absolutely over-the-top schedule Arthur is going to come up with for us to follow them.”

\--

February is proving just as tedious as January for a myriad of reasons. Despite sending a certain reporter several dozen letters, Morgause has yet to answer Morgana. Yet to publish a single news article in fact, which begs the question: did Morgause make herself vanish or did someone else do that particular job for her? With each passing day Morgana can feel the “I told you so” Gwen is doing her best to keep to herself. Slightly less dire but just as frustrating is Ancient Runes where they are supposed to come up with their own runic language and her partner is Mordred who she loves but gods above the boy’s indecision is going to make her pull her hair out. Not to mention the fact that the days are ticking by faster and faster and in hardly no time at all Agravaine will be responsible for her well-being and possibly steal the family fortune? She isn’t entirely sure what he’ll do if he doesn’t find the sword in the Pendragon vaults. And now _Gwaine_ gets to spend all his free time in their evil lair and his presence alone is enough to put her on edge. If she has to hear the joke about the harpy, the banshee, and the Shrieking Shack _one more time_ she is going to take those omnioculars and shove them right up his --

“Ready?” Merlin asks. She lets out a deep breath and nods.

Morgana and Merlin sit cross-legged on the floor across from one another, on black and white cushions respectively. No one else is in the evil lair tonight save the two of them. The room is lit only by the sea of enchanted candles above them, reflecting against the ice coated glass of the window giving the appearance of a million stars floating just outside the window. 

On the floor between them is _the book_.

(“What do you think?” Morgana had asked Merlin after he’d had it for a few days. Days she couldn’t help but notice Merlin’s fingers bore the same ink smudges she once wore herself.

“Well, the pictures are rather lovely.” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Merlin scrunched up his face in a grimace. “Whoever wrote this had abysmal handwriting, though.”

“ _Merlin_.” She wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

He sighed. “It’s weird. The idea that this thing that’s always just done what it wants can be controlled.” Merlin bit his lip. “But you’ll help me?”

Morgana smiled. It was the least she could do.)

Morgana takes a deep breath to steady herself. “I have to warn you, I’m a really awful teacher.” Merlin chuckles and she lets herself smile just a bit. “I mean it. I tried to tutor for Astronomy and I made my student _cry_.”

Merlin shrugs. “Will was pretty sensitive back in third year.” He reaches across the space between them and gives her wrist a gentle squeeze. “I trust you Morgana.”

Morgana swallows and whispers, “what if that’s a mistake?”

Merlin furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

Morgana wrings her hands together. “You said in the prophecy that woman gave you that you ‘shouldn’t trust the Seer.’” She bites her lip. “What if that’s _me_?”

She’s been thinking of little else since Merlin said the news. She’s capable of darkness, she _knows_ it. What if this is just more proof that she really is evil incarnate.

Merlin merely shrugs. “Maybe it was referring to how you weren’t telling us you knew about Old Magic.” He says the phrase simply, as if he’s already forgiven her. “Or maybe it doesn’t mean anything at all.” He sounds annoyingly like Arthur and Morgana has to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “We’ve talked about this Morgana. You put too much faith in the stars.”

She huffs an annoyed breath. “But sometimes they are right.”

“Sometimes,” Merlin corrects, “ _we_ make them right.”

It’s an annoyingly good point. “If I don’t believe in the stars, in Divination, in the only magic I’m good at...then how can I believe in myself?”

Merlin squeezes her hand again. “Because when you See things you decide whether they are imminent, whether or not you want to stop them. It’s still you doing all the work, Morgana. You get to decide if there’s any merit in what the stars are telling you.”

She pouts. “You sound like Gaius.”

Guilt pools in her gut as she watches Merlin flinch at the man’s name. She knows he hasn’t talked to the other man since they found out that Merlin could use Old Magic. And she knows that Merlin isn’t quite ready to talk about it, at least not with her. 

She swats him on the arm. “And I’m the one who is supposed to be teaching you.”

Merlin flashes her a small smile of thanks. “Then why don’t you get to it.”

“All right,” she says, “clear your mind and take deep breaths in and out.”

He quirks a brow. “Like meditation?”

Morgana nods. “Like meditation.” Merlin’s face takes on a very serious expression as he closes his eyes and complies with Morgana’s directions.

In preparation for Merlin’s new magic lessons, she has been subtly needling Nimueh for information on Old Magic theory for the past few days. Nimueh had seemed ecstatic at her rekindled interest. When Morgana had asked if she could talk to Nimueh about Old Magic she had all but thrown the few remaining students from the room.

(“Have you been able to harness it?” Her professor asked with excitement in her eyes heading toward the window.

Morgana shifted from foot-to-foot. Merlin didn’t want to tell anyone else about his magic and Morgana felt it wasn’t her place to divulge the secret anyway. “No,” she admitted, and Nimueh halted as she was moving her sloshing cauldron off a pile of books, the potion splattering a few purple drops on the pages beneath it, “but I'm hoping if I understand more about the...mechanics of accessing it, it will come easier.”

Nimueh turned back to her and beamed. Morgana couldn’t help the pride that swelled in her chest. “I think that’s a very wise idea, Morgana. It’s always good to go back to basics.” She handed her a stack of Magical Theory texts. “Remember, the difference is wand magic comes from inside you where Old Magic comes from the world around you. Be sure to look outward rather than inward.”

Nimueh had also reinstated their private lessons to track Morgana’s progress. She was going to be rather disappointed when Morgana made no such improvements.

Worst-case-scenario Morgana figured Merlin could just tag along for her private lessons under the guise of “curiosity” and “moral support.” But they could cross that bridge when they got there.)

Morgana clears her throat. “Now the biggest difference,” she says quoting Nimueh, “in wand magic and Old Magic is that Old Magic comes from the world around us so you’ll have to look outside yourself to find it.”

Merlin’s eyes blink open and he purses his lips. “I don’t think that’s how it works for me.”

Morgana furrows her brow. “What do you mean?” That’s how it worked for her, those very few instances where she could feel it just on the peripheral of her awareness.

Merlin scratches his neck. “It’s like -- it’s like it’s always there, just under the surface. You know when you boil a vicious potion?” Morgana nods. “And the bubbles want to escape but it’s so thick it takes them ages before they make it to the surface and the once the potion really gets going they pop in huge bursts and splatter potion everywhere? It’s like that but _in me_. It’s always trying to bubble out and once it does, I can’t stop it.”

This...complicates things. The only time it had felt remotely like that to Morgana was when she downed that Old Magic Potion and felt the magic roar through her veins. It was amazing. Terrifying but amazing. Is that how Merlin feels all the time?

Morgana grabs the book and reads one of the directions that’s been underlined numerous times, in both the old handwriting and her own. _Sense the magic around you and then let it in._

“Maybe…” she says, improvising, “you need to do the opposite. Sense the magic in _you_ and then let it out.”

Merlin looks a little ill. “I tend to light things on fire.”

Morgana smirks. “I can handle a water summoning spell, Merlin. I myself have been known to inadvertently start a few fires.” He still looks dubious. She flips through a few other pages to a page with an intricate blue drawing on it. A spell she herself tried on more than once occasion but amounted to nothing but frustration. “Then why don’t you focus on this spell? Less chance for destruction.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows at the detailed image but takes a deep breath and stares at the page for a long time. At last he closes his eyes and cups his hands. With bated breath Morgana feels the air around them crackle with electricity, the faint tang of ozone on the back of her tongue, and she grows more excited than she has in a very long time. Merlin opens his eyes while they are still glowing a molten gold.

Morgana feels a grin spread across her face as Merlin eases his palms open and a single blue butterfly takes flight.

\--

As it turns out, Cenred and Valiant are the most _boring_ people in the entire school to follow. The Evil Knights have a rotating schedule of who’s turn it is to endure the torture of a task so dull they might as well be watching a cauldron boil. Although Merlin supposes that is rather unfair to the boiling cauldron as at least _something_ is happening. It seems as though ever since the club began keeping track of the older Slytherin boys’ whereabouts they’ve become upstanding students. Merlin is beginning to think (not for the first time) they might be pursuing the wrong line of investigation. At this point, he thinks he’d rather take his chances breaking into Gringotts.

The previous evening Cenred and Valiant had gone up to their dorm before midnight and though Merlin waited until nearly 4:00 in the morning for them to emerge, the two seventh-years did not make an appearance. Merlin instead spent the evening alone with only the book on Old Magic and his thoughts for company.

He couldn’t stop thinking about his father. For Merlin’s entire life he always saw his father as this mysterious fictitious figure, like a hero in one of his story books. This man who clearly meant a great deal to his mother but she would never speak of. It was through him that his mother met Gaius and yet Gaius never talked about him _either_. And it was only after Merlin learned of the Unbreakable Vow that those facts started making sense.

The Vow itself must be about more than just the prophecy. It must have included his father’s possession of Old Magic. It was the only explanation for why his mother and Gaius couldn’t say anything at all. If Merlin’s father’s magic was anything like his, then it must have been an inseparable piece of him, the magic and the man one in the same and you couldn’t discuss one without the other.

But Merlin still didn’t quite understand how his father ended up in the mess with Uther Pendragon. If Kilgharrah wasn’t lying and the few things his mother and Gaius had told him had been true, then his father had just been a Dragon Keeper. How on earth did he start running the same circles as Uther Pendragon? To trust him enough to form the most potent oath with him?

It was after thinking this for the thousandth time that Merlin fell asleep with his face in the book of Old Magic and was only jostled awake by a very exasperated Mordred shoving a piece of toast in his mouth and informing him he had ten minutes to get to class.

Merlin rushes into Potions late, stumbling into his seat, wiping the ink stains from his cheeks, and nearly _suffocates_ on a spicy citrus scent clogging the entire room. 

He pointedly ignores Gaius’ look of concern.

(He hasn’t talked to Gaius, not since...the confrontation. It just _hurts_. He knows Gaius has warned his mother of what has transpired as she’s written several letters that he can’t bear to open either. They sit on his trunk and _judge_ him before he goes to sleep each night. He’s slightly worried his mother is just going to turn up one of these days.

Why would they _lie_? Why would they think that the best thing to do would be to raise him in a house of lies and secrets? It is painfully unfair and he’s not quite ready to push himself down the path toward forgiveness.

Someday he will, but not today.)

“ _Ew_ ,” Merlin hisses to Arthur as he sits down. “Did you _drown_ yourself in soap this morning?” He whispers venomously, fully prepared to take out his foul mood on Arthur.

Arthur shakes his head in confusion and raises an imperious eyebrow but Gaius calls class to order before he can make a retort. Merlin notices that Arthur’s hair isn’t wet or anything and then he reads the front board and his heart stops beating.

Oh no.

Oh _gods_.

Gaius claps his hands together and Merlin hopes Agravaine decides to lay siege to the castle so he can die of embarrassment in peace. “I thought we might have a bit of fun given the day.”

The. Day.

 _Valentine’s_ day.

 _Amortentia_.

That means -- but he should -- gods what if -- this is just _the worst_.

Given that Arthur hasn’t mocked Merlin mercilessly, maybe he hasn’t figured out why Merlin is so anxious or why Merlin thinks the entire room smells like the horrible prat sitting beside him.

The potion brewing on the front table is wafting a gentle steam throughout the room in soft curls, the scent is _intoxicating_. It smells like a fire burning in the dining hall of the Rising Sun and the sweet scent of his mother’s bread right when it gets pulled from the oven and (the most powerful and absolute _worst_ component) _Arthur_.

If Merlin still had any doubts about his feelings for the horrible, ugly, stupid, noble, kind, funny, smart, handsome -- wait, no! -- his feelings for _Arthur_ , the potion is a rather damning piece of evidence against his case. He just hopes that Arthur doesn’t figure it out.

It’s so _unfair_. He had already decided not to like Arthur. Why couldn’t the rest of him get with the program?

Gwaine’s voice rising above the class pulls him back to the present. “We get to brew the world’s most powerful love potion!” Merlin thinks Gwaine probably meant to ask a question but instead it came out as a rather excited shout.

Gaius hits Gwaine with a withering brow. “Seeing as I do not believe anyone in this room capable of making such a potion nor am I foolish enough to allow a group of _children_ access to the most dangerous potion in the world, no.” Merlin turns around and sees Gwaine pout. He snickers, ignoring Arthur’s glower as he turns around. (Arthur has not come around to the idea of Gwaine joining the club, Merlin still doesn’t understand why.) “However, you _will_ be brewing the antidote.”

“So we should try it first?” Gwaine asks.

Gaius narrows his eyes. “For the sake of time, we will assume that was a tasteless joke. You have two hours and only the list of ingredients at your disposal. Do _not_ consume any of your concoctions. You may begin.”

So the thing he desires most in the world is Arthur.

So that’s...fine.

It’s not a problem, except it _is_ because Arthur needs a _friend_ not a hopeless lovesick idiot. And Arthur doesn’t even --

“How’d it go last night?”

Merlin shakes his head and starts listing all the ingredients they will likely need, doing his best to NOT think about Arthur. 

Normal friend. He is going to be as _normal_ as possible. “Bad.” Arthur raises a brow and Merlin sort of wants to boil his face in the cauldron. He shakes himself off and tries again. “It went _bad_. Nothing happened, same as every night since we started following them, except I fell asleep and likely did permanent damage to my neck from sleeping on a book. What if we have the wrong people?” It’s a question he’s asked more than once.

Arthur huffs and starts finely dicing a newt tail. “Patience, _Mer_ lin.” Merlin really hates (loves) that Arthur says his name like that. “As I’ve told you one hundred times if they’ve gone this long without being caught, then they must be really stealthy.”

Merlin glowers at him and drops a handful of frog eyes into the cauldron. The antidote smells a bit like Will’s laundry bag but it’s a vast improvement to being surrounded by Arthur. “Or something’s changed.”

Arthur waves him off. “Either way we’ll know soon enough.”

“We would know faster if --”

“Merlin,” Arthur hisses as he stirs their potion with his wand, “we aren’t _drugging_ them.”

“It worked for Morgause,” Merlin grouses.

“It _didn’t_ as Morgana found out about it and it got her working for Agravaine.” Arthur shakes his head. “I worry about you sometimes. How’s the magic going?”

Merlin spares a look around the room but all his classmates are wearing varying expressions of disgust as they plop ingredients into their cauldrons. “It’s alright.”

Arthur gives him a slightly confused smirk. “That’s all I get?”

Merlin swallows. Arthur Pendragon makes it very difficult to put _space_ between them, metaphorically and _literally_ as he has siddled right up to Merlin’s side and Merlin’s arm is _searing_ where they brush against each other. But friends confide in each other and Merlin is being a normal friend. Just a slightly flushed and sweaty friend who is trying very hard to suppress the memory of what it felt like to have Arthur’s mouth against his own. Totally just-friend things.

“I don’t know...it’s hard to describe.” Merlin has realized his magic has been in something like a sleeper state, dormant, waiting for something _like this_ to raise it from the ashes. Now it is restless, swirling, storming, running just under his skin always waiting to be unleashed. The spells are certainly helping channel it but he thinks it wants _more_.

Arthur is still looking at him so Merlin just shrugs and says, “I think it’s helping.”

Arthur looks disappointed. “That’s good.”

Merlin swallows. “Are you alright?” 

Arthur’s being...weird. Has been sort of weird actually ever since they returned from holidays. He’s always looking at Merlin and quietly contemplating something and _touching_ Merlin. And now he’s being all sad as if something Merlin said was horribly disappointing? Arthur makes no sense.

Arthur turns to face him fully and Merlin resists the urge to squirm away. It is still very disorienting when Arthur gives him his full attention. Arthur narrows his eyes as he stares at Merlin’s face. “You’ve got…” and then to Merlin’s _horror_ Arthur leans even closer, rubs his thumb over a spot on his cheek and Merlin’s magic surges to life in a buzz of anticipation. (Nothing can quite bring Merlin’s magic to life the way Arthur Pendragon can.) Merlin watches as Arthur swallows rather loudly and he feels like he might pass out. “Ink.”

Before Merlin can do something absolutely _mental_ his magic gives a sharp crackle in its excitement and there’s a BANG as every cauldron in the room explodes.

\--

Morgana peers around the corner on her tip-toes but there’s no sign of anyone in the corridor.

“You’re sure they left the dorm?” Gwen asks behind her.

“Yes!” Morgana hisses. “Wait, someone’s coming.”

Morgana peeks around the wall and nearly growls as she sees a group of snickering third-years heading up from the kitchens, arms clad with sweets.

Morgana huffs out a defeated sigh.

“Is this about...the day?” Gwen tentatively asks from behind her.

Morgana spares Gwen a glance. “You mean that starting today Agravaine is legally my guardian until I turn seventeen in a month? I suppose. Might also have something to do with the fact I feel so utterly useless and like we’re trying to achieve the impossible and I haven’t heard back from Morgause so I’m worried she’s going to double cross us and Merlin won’t talk to Gaius and Gaius won’t really talk to _me_ so we haven’t gotten an update on Uther in nearly a month and I may or may not be the reincarnation of an evil sorceress.” Morgana slides down the wall and puts her head in her hands. “And we have to read fucking Lord Byron before Muggle Studies tomorrow. Had I known sixth year was all about Muggle culture I would have dropped the class.”

She feels Gwen sit beside her. “I think we’re moving onto television soon. Not entirely sure why seeing as the literature we are reading is from the 1800s and the television was invented over a century later but I’m sure there’s a method to the madness somewhere.”

Morgana snorts. Muggles Studies is rather infamous for it’s anachronism. “I guess that’s one thing to look forward to.”

Gwen nudges her shoulders together. “What’s the worst part?”

Morgana sighs. “Is it too dramatic if I say Lord Byron?”

Gwen chimes a quiet laugh. “No. But you know it’s ok to feel...overwhelmed. This is all…”

“Unprecedented?” Morgana offers.

“Bat shit.” It’s Morgana’s turn to laugh. “I think...given the circumstances you’re doing the best you can. You have lots of contingency plans in place. You aren’t going to leave Hogwarts so Agravaine can’t get to you or Arthur. I’ll talk to Gaius tomorrow and see if we can get a more concrete update about Uther and you can send Morgause another letter using Elena’s owl. It’s a bit of a monster and will peck her to death until she responds. Just don’t tell Elena I talked about it that way.”

Morgana chews on her lip. “What if nothing we do matters? What if it all still falls apart anyway?”

Gwen shrugs. “Sometimes all we can do is try.”

But what if trying isn’t enough?

Gwen hits her shoulder again and changes the subject. “Also, can we talk about Merlin and Arthur?” Gwen asks and Morgana snorts in spite of herself. “What is even going on with them anymore? I mean gods, I know Merlin is working on getting his magic under control but he exploded a dozen cauldrons just because Arthur _looked_ at him. If that doesn’t clue them in then I don’t know what will.”

Morgana shakes her head. “It’s becoming painful to watch.”

Gwen raises an eyebrow. “Becoming? I think it’s been painful for quite a while now. Should we talk to them?”

Morgana sighs. “I’m not sure. You know how Arthur is with talking about feelings and recently Merlin’s been just as bad. It might just make everything worse.” She looks over with a grin. “And I need them to hold off until the end of seventh year so that I take the pool.”

Gwen shakes her head. “Well for all our sakes, let’s hope it doesn’t take that long.”

Morgana hums. “I pity the person who ends up talking to them about it though. Arthur’s probably going to try and kill them.”

\--

“What’s going on with you and Merlin?”

Arthur shoots Gwaine a sidelong glance from where the other boy is peering through his omnioculars between the rather opulent wings of a statue they are perched behind. “If I gave the impression that I’d like to chat whilst we lurk in the corridor, I would like to clear that up right now.”

It’s Gwaine and Arthur’s turn on stakeout duty. Arthur had begrudgingly signed himself up to be Gwaine’s partner because the only other option was for Gwaine to partner with Merlin and...that’s not an option at all.

If asked about why Quidditch practices always fell on the same night Merlin was assigned stakeout duty, Arthur would say it was a coincidence. He’s just working the team harder than usual because they lost their first match and he was determined to win their next match.

(This would be a lie.)

It’s just...he really _hates_ the fact that Merlin is spending so much time with Gwaine and he's not about to assign them _more_ time together. He keeps running through all of the other boys' encounters over the past year (of which admittedly there are few since Merlin does spend most of his time with Arthur) and going over things Gwaine has said about Merlin, a few of which make Arthur’s blood boil with rage (particularly the time Gwaine volunteered to snog Merlin). Logically, Arthur knows Gwaine is a huge flirt and almost immediately after volunteering to kiss Merlin he made a joke about cornering Percival under the mistletoe but it still makes Arthur _worried_.

Because it’s not like Merlin does anything to _stop_ Gwaine’s flirting. In fact, Arthur would go far as to say sometimes he flirts _back_. Grant it, Merlin’s normal personality is a rather enthusiastic one so maybe he’s looking too much into things.

(He’s definitely looking too much into things.)

Gwaine merely leans back and raises an eyebrow at Arthur. Arthur does his best to keep his face totally neutral as he asks, “why are you asking?” with as little inflection as he can put in his voice.

Gwaine snorts. “Dunno. Ever since holidays you two just seem…. _friendly_.”

Arthur narrows his eyes and presses his lips together. 

The problem is that the quiet, _awful_ voice he’s ignored for so long refuses to _shut up_ and the goddamn _Amortentia_ potion smelled like honey and magic and _Merlin_ and Merlin’s face was all flushed from the steam coming off his cauldron and he had this spot of ink on his cheek that was so _endearing_ and Arthur was _going to lose his mind_. Because Merlin has, on more than one occasion, insisted he doesn’t fancy Arthur, isn’t even _attracted_ to Arthur. But other times….it seems like Merlin is watching him from the corner of his eye and smirking at him in what Arthur considers a rather flirtatious manner and blushing when Arthur pretend-flirts back and staring at his mouth which really is quite cruel if he doesn’t mean anything by it.

And Arthur can’t _help_ himself. The more Merlin is flirty and flustered the more Arthur does it right back. And he _knows_ he watches Merlin too, and he knows the name of the feeling that sends his heart into somersaults when Merlin smiles at him, and he _knows_ that he uses any and every excuse he can come up with to justify why he’s always touching Merlin.

But he doesn’t know how to talk to _Merlin_ about any of this without making a total arse of himself and ruining their friendship.

Arthur just crosses his arms as he glares at Gwaine. “We’re friends.”

Gwaine smirks. “So are we, but you don’t treat me that way.”

“I like Merlin more than you.”

Gwaine snorts. “Obviously.”

Much to Arthur’s annoyance, he feels his cheeks heat. “Aren’t we supposed to keep quiet!” Arthur hisses.

“They aren’t anywhere in sight. And we’ll hear them a mile off.” Gwaine pulls a face and loudly cracks his neck. “Kidnapping and extortion doesn’t seem out of the realm of possibility anymore, I always thought spying would be more exciting.”

Gwaine grows serious which is more alarming than anything else that has happened so far. “Do you want some advice?”

Arthur grimaces. “I can think of little else I would enjoy less.”

Gwaine leans forward and pats his shoulder. “Merlin’s a really great person. Which means someone is going to come along and sweep him off his feet one of these days. You might want to make sure it’s you.”

Arthur blinks one too many times. “I thought _you_ liked Merlin.”

Gwaine shakes his head. “For someone so smart you are _really_ stupid.” Arthur is still too surprised by Gwaine’s comment to be properly offended. “I do like Merlin, same as I like you. As a friend.”

“Oh.”

Gwaine nods. “And if you --”

Footsteps sound down the hall and they go silent, pressing themselves flat against the wall behind the statue. Gwaine snatches his omnioculars and squints his eyes down the hall.

A very annoyed looking Cenred and Valiant stomp past them, utterly _oblivious_ to Arthur and Gwaine’s presence. So much for Arthur’s theory that the two were spy masterminds.

Valiant hits Cenred with a piece of rolled up parchment in his hand. “Told you this was a better use of our time,” Valiant says.

Cenred scowls. “Yeah, but what if --”

Valiant cuts Cenred off. “If we don’t hear back by Friday, we’ll send another letter. I’m done taking his orders until he answers _this_.”

The two boys round the corner and head up the stairs toward the Owlery.

Gwaine turns to Arthur with a mischievous smile. “You ever tried to steal an owl before?”

\--

Professor Potter claps his hands together at the front of the room. “Before we move on to our next section, let’s do a quick review of what we’ve learned through our unit on creatures that exist between life and death.”

Merlin and Arthur sit in the back (a habit they have adopted in all of their classes) and are not paying one lick of attention.

“So what does that mean?” Merlin whispers, pretending to sift through his notes to answer Potter’s questions. The previous evening Arthur and Gwaine had intercepted (see: stolen) a letter Cendred had tried to send to Cedric.

Arthur shakes his head. “The letter wasn’t terribly informative but it seems like Cedric was getting short with them and they’re demanding more money before they do anything else.”

Merlin stares at Arthur in shock. “They’re _striking_? They’re working for an evil villain and they’re asking for more _compensation_?”

“Seems like.”

Merlin sits back and shakes his head. It’s a bold move. Stupid, but bold. He waits for Mithian to stop describing in rather vivid detail how to identify a shade by their slightly transparent appearance.

When Professor Potter starts discussing Inferi he looks over at Arthur watching him.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

Arthur shakes his head and flushes. Arthur’s been doing that a lot lately. Staring at him and turning red when Merlin catches him.

Merlin is doing his very best not to read too closely into what that might mean.

“Er --” Arthur shakes his head again. “They said they want a meeting, though the Floo network --”

“So we can catch them in the act,” Merlin whispers.

“Gentlemen.” Merlin’s gaze snaps to the front where Potter and the entire class are staring at them. “Would you like to share how to defeat a Shade?”

Without missing a beat Arthur says, “you would need a mortal weapon forged of magic. Like an enchanted sword or dagger or axe. Since Shades are spirits pulled from the realm of death they have characteristics of both the living and the dead and need to die by both mortal means and magical means.” Arthur ends his answer with his usual disarming grin.

Potter raises an eyebrow but continues the lecture.

After a few minutes Merlin leans closer to Arthur again. “When is it happening?” Merlin whispers.

“Next Tuesday.” Arthur grimaces. “And they plan on using Kilgharrah’s office.”

Merlin shakes his head. “Gods. Morgana’s going to be _insufferable_ about this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next Chapter will be up the moment the wifi is set up in my new place.
> 
> Next Chapter Features: The Evil Knights of Camelot and the Power of Teamwork
> 
> Comments and kudos are amazing :)


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise update?? This chapter is brought to you courtesy of my girlfriend who is an angel and did 90% of the packing while I edited this on my phone and pretended to help.
> 
> Also, I am stubbornly refusing to up the chapter count therefore these next two chapters should definitely be three so they are going to be long and packed :)

Night falls across the school heavy and cold as an iron curtain. The castle is as still and cool as the very stone of its foundation. Not a creature stirs, not a ghost floats, and all the students sleep snuggly in their beds.

Well, not _all_ the students.

One student clad in black creeps along the shadows, racing from pockets of darkness, avoiding the moonlight at all costs. At the end of the hall he freezes with his ears alert and attuned for any unexpected noise.

A rather frustrated sigh sounds behind him as a second boy follows in his wake, though the other student is not trying _nearly_ as hard to keep perfectly quiet.

Though he can’t clearly see the other boy, Gwaine shoots Lance a glare anyway. “ _Shh_!”

Another sigh, “we aren’t _actually_ spies,” Lance hisses back.

“Well, I don’t fancy getting caught by Filch.”

He still can’t see Lance but it seems as if he is rolling his eyes. “Thought that was what Merlin’s cat is for?”

As if on cue, a cat yowls in a distant corner of the castle. He can practically hear Lance’s ‘I told you so’ though he doesn’t voice it out loud.

Gwaine shakes his head. Lance is _no fun_. He really wishes he’d been able to convince Arthur to let Elyan in the club, _Elyan_ would have at least enjoyed this.

When he’s sure the hall is empty, Gwaine carefully sets his bag on the ground and looks up at his co-conspirator. “How much time?”

Lance’s shadow shifts. “Five minutes.”

Gwaine grins as he starts removing the supplies from his bag.

The shadow next to him rocks back and forth. “Still can’t _believe_ you talked Arthur into this.”

Gwaine shrugs. “Took some convincing and it was easier with Merlin on board, because Merlin could probably convince Arthur to do just about _anything_ , but come on? Causing an explosion in the middle of the night? _This_ is my time to shine.”

\--

The conversation five days prior looked a little something like this:

“I told you so!” Morgana's voice was high and shrill and righteous.

Arthur crossed his arms. “They could have just picked a random office.”

“Or they could have picked someone they’ve been conspiring with! Like a creepy old man who just so happens to _always_ be lurking abound! And giving the most unhelpful clues I’ve ever heard in my life!” Morgana yelled.

A fight was brewing between the Pendragon siblings as they stood toe to toe, each ready to take the other out. Merlin decided to play mediator. 

“Let’s just consider Kilgharrah a suspicious person and table the conversation for another time.” Morgana shot him a glare but Arthur awarded him with a small smile. “Why don’t we focus on how we are going to sneak into his office, shall we?”

Morgana held her breath for a very long time but eventually relented. “ _Fine_.” She braced herself as if she’s about to do something horrible and turned to look at Gwaine. “Do _you_ have any ideas?”

Gwaine smiled with a few too many teeth. “I knew you’d come around.”

She narrowed her eyes. “ _Oh_ , I still hate you. I just know you’ve been caught breaking into the potions closet on four separate occasions so I want to make sure we learn from your mistakes.”

Gwaine flashed a rude gesture and Lance put his face in his hands like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world at the moment.

“Guys,” Gwen said weakly, “can we at least _try_ to get along.”

The Knights were not quite the well-oiled machine Merlin had been hoping they would be. It seemed as though Arthur had come around to Gwaine’s presence but Morgana still hadn’t.

Morgana glared at Gwaine and shrugged, “fine.” Morgana waved a hand lazily before her, “what’s your _oh so brilliant_ idea?”

Gwaine rubbed his hands together. “It’s going to be a three stage operation.”

“Good gods,” Lance muttered.

Gwaine ignored him and held up a finger, ticking off a list. “First, assuming Kilgharrah will not be joining in the Floo call, we need to make sure he doesn’t wake up. The door to his private quarters is right next to his office.” It was a small blessing that the door to his private quarters isn’t actually in the office as that is the case with most professors. It might actually be the reason they elected to use Kilgharrah’s space in the first place.

Lance tilted his head to the side. “Won’t Cenred and Valiant be doing that? Since they are using his office?”

Gwaine raised an eyebrow, “do you really trust that they will handle that?”

“Fair point.”

Merlin nodded along. “So someone needs to wait outside the office, put a charm on the door and keep watch for if Kilgharrah emerges.”

Gwaine grinned. “Already ahead of me, Emrys. Stage One is lookout.”

Gwen crossed her arms. “And Stage Two?”

Arthur sighed. “Someone has to be in the office. To eavesdrop. They’ll need to be in place well before Cenred and Valiant arrive.”

“Alright,” Lance shot Gwaine a dubious look. “Then what’s stage three?”

Gwaine smiled. “Well, if everything falls apart, we’re going to need help making a quick get-away.”

Arthur smirked. “I trust that you already have something in mind for such an occasion?”

“You know me well, Princess, you know me well.”

“And I take it you already have an idea about who is going to be doing what?” Morgana asked with a skeptical raised brow.

Gwaine curled a half-smile. “I think you already know.”

\--

The Transfiguration wing is quiet. All the portraits snooze away in their painting, all the doors are soundly shut, and behind a tapestry depicting the map of a faraway and possible fictitious land two girls peek through a gap between the wall and the fabric.

“I don’t think I’m cut out to be an Auror,” Gwen whispers, rocking back and forth on her heels, wand white-kunckled in her hand.

Morgana merely shrugs. She’s likely not cut out for it either but less for the rule breaking, danger, and adrenaline and more because she can’t hit a stupefy spell against the broad side of a barn.

“What’s the signal again?” Morgana asks. She knows Gwen knows, knows _Gwen_ knows that _she knows_ that Gwen knows, but Gwen needs to feel some sort of semblance of control over the situation or she might start spiraling.

Gwen sighs and fidgets with the scrap of white cloth tied around her arm. A scrap of cloth that each member of the heist team is currently sporting.

Gwen takes a deep breath and starts reciting: “When we see Cenred and Valiant we turn the cloth green.”

It had been Merlin’s idea, genius truly.

(“Touchstones!”

Everyone shot Merlin a slightly concerned look as he interrupted a conversation about the reliability of Extendable Ears. “Merlin,” Arthur said, “we covered Touchstones last term and I really don’t think Flitwick will bring them up again until the final exam.”

“No, you _prat_ , we can use Touchstones to keep in contact with one another. If we enchant one piece of fabric and use a Touchstone to embroider it, then we can cut it up but each time we magically dye it, all the pieces will change color too.”

“Merlin!” Gwaine exclaimed. “I could kiss you!” Gwaine shot an apologetic look to Arthur. “I won’t because I’m not keen on being on the receiving end of a nasty hex from --”

Lance hit Gwaine on the back of the head, effectively cutting him off. “I can steal a sheet from the laundry room.”

“Ow,” Gwaine muttered. “And _gross_.”

“I’d get a clean one you idiot.”

“Fantastic,” Morgana said interrupting before the friends could start ripping into one another and derailing the conversation completely, “one problem solved, twelve thousand to go.”)

Gwen fiddles with the cloth some more. “If anyone turns it red it means something has gone wrong and we need Gwaine to cause the distraction. If everything goes well, Merlin or Arthur will turn it gold.”

Morgana smiles. “See, everything is going to go great.” She peeks through the crack again and sees two shadow sulking their way down the hall. She turns to Gwen with a wicked smile. “Show time.”

Gwen looks a touch ill but presses her wand against the fabric. Morgana watches as the white cloth on Gwen’s arm bleeds to an emerald green and in turn the one on her arm does the same.

Phase I: Complete.

\--

If someone had told Arthur at the beginning of sixth year that he would be trapped in a small, slightly enclosed space with Merlin Emrys not once, not twice, but _three_ separate times, he probably wouldn’t have believed them.

(Though in fairness, the first time he wasn’t really _trapped_ as he had actually pulled Merlin behind a tapestry to yell at him for making an advance on Morgana and the second time Gwaine had (for reasons Arthur was starting to suspect had been marginally altruistic though misguided) locked them in a broom cupboard, and this time he had _voluntarily_ climbed into the ornate wooden cupboard with Merlin of his own accord but...semantics.)

Under other circumstances he likely would have enjoyed being in such close proximity with Merlin more. Particularly after receiving Gwaine’s rather _accusatory_ advice. Arthur feels like there’s some sort of clock ticking down how fast he needs to _do something_ about Merlin but right now...

“Why did you pick a cupboard with so many mirrors,” Arthur hisses doing his best not to jostle the 1,000 fragile objects hanging from the back wall of the wardrobe. It’s near pitch dark, only a tiny sliver of light seeps through the crack between the cupboard doors.

“It was this one or the one with all the mice!” Merlin hisses back, close enough that his breath ghosts right across Arthur’s cheek and he has to hold his body perfectly still so he doesn’t do something absolutely _mad_ , because it’s _really_ not the time.

(They’ll be time later, hopefully when they aren’t trying to eavesdrop on fellow classmates potentially carrying out Agravaine’s nefarious agenda.)

Merlin sucks in a quiet gasp and Arthur glances down to see both bands on their arm turn green.

A long, drawn out creak sounds from inside the room as the door to the office is slowly pushed open. It’s a good thing Gwen and Morgana put a silencing charm on Kilgharrah’s private chambers as surely _that_ would have woken him.

Merlin stiffens beside him as two figures pass right by the room they are locked in.

(“What if they try to use detection spells?” Gwen had asked. “To sweep the room?”

Merlin had raised his eyebrows comically high. “Not to be... _rude_ ,” Merlin had said, sounding very rude, “but I really don’t reckon either of them are capable of a spell like that. I don’t think they got a passing grade in Charms and they haven’t taken the class since their fifth-year.”

“Makes you wonder why Cedric chose them in the first place,” Lance said.

Morgana snorted. “No it doesn’t. It just confirms what we knew all along. Agravaine is a total _idiot_. His evilness is not making up for his stupidity.”)

There’s a whooshing noise and a near blinding light as the fire across from them is ignited.

Almost immediately they hear a man’s voice, slightly whiny and annoyed, “you can’t quit.”

Cedric.

Someone scoffs. “Yeah, we can.” Valiant has always been rather arrogant and full of himself and it is certainly on display at the moment. “We’ve searched every sword in the bloody building. None of them have the inscription and none of them have the proper enchantment. It’s not here.”

A huff, indignant and accompanied by the crackling of flames. “Well, look again.”

One of them laughs, higher than the first voice and Arthur assumes it’s Cenred. “Not unless you pay up, Ced. When we agreed to this we were told we just had to look through every sword, _which we did_. If you want to double the fee we’d be happy to do it again but I’m telling you, it’s not here. Cut your losses early and tell your boss the disappointing news.”

An angry sort of grunt. “He’s your boss too if that hasn’t occurred to you. Have you tried --”

Valiant cuts him off. “Yes, we tried _accio_ , we searched the bottom of the dumb lake -- which wasn’t easy as that squid is mean as hell if you don’t bribe it -- we looked at every armor stand remotely related to knights and Camelot and even loads that _weren’t_. It’s not here.”

“It has to be!” The yell is loud and desperate. “It isn’t anywhere else! The only place left _is_ Hogwarts.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Cenred says, voice slightly more gentle. It occurs to Arthur for the first time that these boys are all actually friends and maybe there’s a part of Valiant and Cenred that are genuinely worried about what might happen to Cedric if he can’t deliver. “Maybe it’s like all the legends say. You’ll have to get it out of Camelot.”

“That’s not going to help! Camelot doesn’t exist anymore!” A gasp and the sound of a log collapsing in the hearth. “Fuck, they’re here. Keep looking, I’ve got to --”

A new voice sounds from the fire, this one chills Arthur to core. “Who is your assistant talking to Agravaine?” It starts as a low growl and shifts as the sentence carries on, up to the pitch of tenor, and back down again. Merlin shivers beside him as they listen to a voice they last heard deep in the wood. “I _do_ hope they can be trusted.”

The fire roars once more before it goes dark.

Then silence.

Through the meager light between the doors, he can see Merlin staring at him with a face of intense worry.

“Gods,” Cenred whispers, “hate to be Cedric right now. Whoever the hell that was sounds far worse than Agravaine.”

\--

Morgana is ignoring Gwaine’s pouting from his place in his favorite chair before the window when Merlin and Arthur finally make it back to the evil lair. They are the last to arrive.

Gwaine sticks his bottom lip out at Merlin. “I didn’t even get to _use_ any of my dung bombs.”

Merlin shakes his head and hits his shoulder as he passes him. “Isn’t that a good thing? It means everything went the way you said it would.”

Gwaine sighs and drapes himself more dramatically across the chair. “I guess, but I better get to explode _something_ before this club disbands.”

Morgana puts her hands on her hips. “Can we focus, _please_. I believe we all have class first thing in the morning tomorrow and none of us are exactly Gaius’ favorite students at the moment.”

Merlin and Arthur share a series of facial expressions in their weird little language before Arthur steps forward and shares what he overheard. The longer he talks the more the ice-like feeling of dread creeps down her spine.

When the tale is finished Gwaine lets out a low whistle. “So Cedric is probably dead.”

“Gods Gwaine,” Lance mutters, “did you have to jump straight to murder?”

Gwaine only shrugs before making himself more comfortable in his ornate chair. Anyone who calls Morgana dramatic has clearly never met _Gwaine_. “If it was that person that was in the woods who gladly sent _wyverns_ to kill Merlin and Arthur...it’s not that big of a jump.”

Morgana’s brow is furrowed as she studies Arthur. “So it’s not here? It’s not anywhere. The sword is...gone?”

It’s a painful conclusion that sits like a stone deep in her gut.

Arthur shakes his head before sitting on a desk. “Cenred and Valiant seem to think it isn’t at Hogwarts and Cedric was pretty explicit that it wasn’t anywhere else either...unless it was left in Camelot.”

She sits down on the nearest cushion with a thud. “But then….everything we’ve done has just been a colossal waste of time. We didn’t do anything useful.”

They weren’t going to find the sword, they weren’t going to stop Agravaine, they weren’t going to do _anything_.

“Well,” Arthur says, “Uther’s not dying anymore.”

She waves a hand. “Yeah, but the world is still in danger!”

“And,” Gwen adds, “Agravaine doesn’t have Arthur so he can’t stop the prophecy if he doesn’t have him.”

Morgana nods. “Yeah, alright. So...maybe instead of trying to stop Agravaine, we should try and fulfill the prophecy.”

Merlin grimaces. “Can it wait until after exams?” She shoots him a fierce glare. “What? Listen Morgana, wasn’t the whole point of this to save Uther? And didn’t we do that? And now your father is going to recover and become Minister again and Agravaine will fade into obscurity and this will just be another odd chapter in Wizarding History.”

Arthur nods. “And there’s still so much we don’t know and we have no idea how to get more information.” He gets off his desk and gently sits on the cushion beside her. “We don’t know when it’s supposed to happen or _where_ \--”

“Well,” Gwaine says, “if it’s in a _dragon’s_ _den_ my sister works in the Department of Magical Creatures, I could probably get a list of sanctuaries and known dragon sites.”

“Not helping,” Lance says.

“And,” Arthur continues with a glare at his dorm mates, “we don’t know who or what the _Daughter of Pluto_ is or the _binding_ or literally anything.” He stops as if thinking to himself. “We know virtually nothing. How is it possible that we know nothing? What the hell have we been doing?”

He’s not wrong which somehow makes everything worse. Morgana draws her knees to her chest and rests her chin on them. She has one last feeble ray of hope. “The sword.”

“What?” Her brother asks.

She sighs. “The sword is probably related to the binding. We _sort of_ know that.”

Gwen tentatively sits on her other side. “Then...it’s good that Agravaine doesn’t have it, yeah?”

She knows everyone wants to just accept what they have accomplished, put this behind them and maybe forget about it forever but Morgana knows she can’t. Because all of this must _mean_ something. She knows that those Visions she had over the summer and at the beginning of the year are Important. She knows there’s a reason the Centaur Calliope trusted her with the prophecy. So she can’t just _give up_.

She sets her jaw and glares at Arthur, fully prepared to dig her heels in to get what she wants. “I think we should keep trying to solve it. Until Agravaine is officially not Minister.”

Until they have the answers that are so close she can almost taste them.

Until they have this bloody sword.

Arthur takes in a large breath and holds it for several moments. She can see him debating, calculating the odds that she will give in and give up. He lets out the breath and Morgana knows he’s going to make a compromise. “Fine. We can keep reading all the books on Camelot and maybe something will become clear.” Arthur shoots Merlin a look that clearly says he doesn’t think anything else is going to become clear anytime soon but she chooses to ignore it for the time being.

“Fine,” Morgana says at last. “But something is coming,” she says, rather ominously, “even if I can’t See it, I can _feel_ it.”

\--

Despite Morgana’s warning, the weeks almost return to some sort of normal, a taste of what sixth year would have been like if the world hadn’t turned upside down. 

Merlin writes essays, and avoids talking to Gaius, and has magic lessons with Morgana, and tries to convince her that just because they don’t know where a _sword_ is doesn’t mean the entire world is going to collapse around them, and goes to Quidditch practices with Morgana and Gwen to harass the players, attends a _raging_ birthday party for the Pendragon twins in the Gryffindor dormitory that Professor Longbottom breaks up with a look of thinly veiled amusement on his face, and helps Freya sneak a niffler she found with a broken bill into the dorms, and then helps her sneak it to Hagrid when the niffler breaks out and destroys the Slytherin dormitory, and finally opens the letters from his mother when the guilt pressing down on his chest gets too heavy, and then feels _more_ guilt because they all just say that she understands he needs time and will be here when he’s ready and she’s so very sorry though she knows that isn’t enough, and through it all Arthur Pendragon is right by his side despite Merlin’s best efforts to put a little _space_ between them. The only thing Merlin had really succeeded in doing was making sure he was at least not _alone_ with Arthur (not since being _pressed right up against him_ in a closet) until Arthur _foiled_ that particular plan.

It’s just Merlin and Arthur tonight, alone in the evil lair. Merlin had come up during dinner to finish his essay for Herbology and avoid a certain Pendragon. After an hour or so, Arthur had looked in with a boyish grin sending Merlin’s stomach into summersaults. Arthur is proving much more difficult to evade than he really should be.

“How’s the magic going?”

He can feel Arthur studying him, his gaze like a brand on Merlin’s face and Merlin swallows and doesn’t look up. Arthur’s been _looking_ at Merlin a lot lately and instead of looking away when he’s caught _like a normal person_ , he seems to just stare even more.

Merlin has absolutely no idea what he means by it.

(He knows what he _wants_ it to mean, but he’s fairly certain that he’s projecting.)

Arthur sits in an oversized armchair _right next to_ Merlin’s, both of them sitting sideways, their feet hanging off the armrest and hitting each other every few moments as if Arthur is doing it _on purpose_. Merlin’s heart thrums despite his best efforts.

Merlin shrugs, “er -- fine.”

Truthfully the magic lessons were proving…unsettling.

(The last lesson Morgana had stared at him with her mouth wide open for almost two full minutes before Merlin snapped, “quit looking at me that way!”

Morgana shook her head and rifled through the pages of the book. “But….Merlin --”

He huffed, “yes, I know.”

“No, _Merlin_ ,” Morgana said, leaning forward, “I don’t think you do. Nowhere in this book does it mention that people who wield Old Magic can stop _time_.” He already regretted telling Morgana about that particular detail of their escape from St. Mungo’s.

“It didn’t stop completely --”

“Merlin,” Morgana was looking at him...in awe. It was making him very uncomfortable. She licked her lips. “When you use your magic...I can _feel_ it. Almost like I’m using it.”

Merlin nodded. “Right, well Kilgharrah mentioned some people have an aptitude, you’re obviously one of those people.”

“Well, maybe,” Morgana hedged, “but...what if you are some kind of...I don’t know, _source_ of Old Magic. And you can let other people use it, use _your_ magic?”

Merlin swallowed. “How would we even test that? I’m not going to put you in danger.”

Morgana pursed her lips, still looking at him like he was a problem to solve. “I’ll look into it.” She jumped to her feet and pointed to a different spell. “Let’s head up to the Astronomy Tower to see if you can channel lightning.”

“Morgana, I just said I won’t put you in danger.”

“I’m your teacher, you have to do what I say. And we’ll be inside when it happens,” she added like it was going to be no big deal.

The loud CRACK that shook the castle when Merlin’s lightning hit the building had him glaring furiously at Morgana.

She shrugged. “No one will know it was you.”

“It’s not even cloudy!”)

Merlin bites his lip. He really doesn’t like the idea that he is this incredibly powerful wizard. He just wants to be...Merlin. So he isn’t particularly keen to share Morgana’s theory with Arthur.

He chances a glance up at Arthur and sees he has quirked an eyebrow at his silence. “Is it a secret?” There’s a note in his voice, higher pitched than normal, that in anyone else Merlin would say is insecurity. Merlin studies him for a moment, while Arthur chews on the corner of his lip, shoulders tensed like he’s bracing for the worst.

Merlin tilts his head. “Arthur? Are you...jealous?” Merlin’s time with Arthur has decreased exponentially since he and Morgana had begun their magic lessons (and Merlin decided he was going to stop being sort-of-in-love with him).

Arthur’s eyes go huge before he scowls venomously. “No -- what -- jealous of what?”

Merlin grins and sits up in his seat. “Are you worried Morgana is going to be my new best friend?”

Arthur's face changes abruptly, a pleased smile stretching right across his lips and Merlin knows he’s misstepped somewhere. “I’m your best friend?”

Merlin swallows and blushes. “Yes.” He shouldn’t ask, it doesn’t matter, he’s _not_ going to ask, “er -- am I -- do you?”

“Yes,” Arthur says before Merlin can stammer any more.

Merlin shakes his head and tries to quell his mounting blush. He decides to change the subject before he can embarrass himself further. “Do you want to see what Morgana and I have been working on?”

Arthur nods and sits forward, too close. Arthur Pendragon is always much too close.

Merlin takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Just as he does in his lessons he focuses on the stinging feeling beneath his skin and the powerful storm swirling within him. He pictures the image of a butterfly pressed into the pages of a book weathered by time. He tries (and fails) to ignore the fluttering of his heart as he feels Arthur lean _even closer_ , like he’s trying to see the magic as Merlin casts the spell. The heat coming off Arthur’s knee where it presses against his thigh is almost burning and there’s a swoop deep in his stomach.

His magic nearly explodes and he hears the sound like a thousand fluttering wings.

In trepidation, he cracks one eye open. 

The first thing he registers is Arthur’s eyes wide and open, mouth dropped, staring at him in shock. A close second is a tickling sensation from where a butterfly has landed on his nose. But the most alarming component (that he really should have noticed first) is the storm of blue above their heads as hundreds _maybe thousands_ of butterflies flit about the room.

“Oh _gods_.”

Arthur smiles, slightly crooked teeth on full display. “Was that not supposed to happen?”

Merlin blushes. “It was just supposed to be the one.”

Arthur leans forward and touches his index finger right to the tip of Merlin’s nose where the butterfly shifts onto Arthur’s hand. “Just this one?” He asks, one eyebrow cocked.

Merlin swallows. Arthur is still too close, only a single butterfly is suspended between them.

He watches Arthur swallow too and Merlin idly wonders if he fell asleep and this is all a very vivid and surreal dream. If it is, he doesn't want to do anything to wake up. Arthur shakes his head and gives him a rather fond smile. “I don’t really believe in reincarnation, but maybe you are the Great Warlock Merlin, Prince of Enchantments.”

Merlin’s brain has vacated the premise so his mouth starts talking without his permission. “That’s kind of dumb name.”

Arthur chuckles, not moving, just _right there_. “You’ll have to take it up with the residents of Camelot.”

The butterfly flies off. And now there’s _nothing_ separating him and Arthur. Merlin swallows a comically loud gulp and gives a nervous chuckle and then his mouth goes off again. “Well, too bad I can’t do that, seeing as you know, they’re all dead. Weird that we don’t have any ghosts from Camelot. Suppose I could harass Sir Cadogan and camp out before the Merlin portrait to see if he ever shows up.” Arthur leans _even closer_ and Merlin’s heart takes off in his chest and now he's _sure_ he's dreaming but he can’t stop _talking_. “And then I guess I could try and get something out of that _Camelot_ painting.”

His brain kicks back into gear at the close of his blabbering and repeats the last statement in a loop.

Something out of the _Camelot_ painting.

Something out of Camelot.

 _Get it out of Camelot_.

Merlin jumps up and Arthur falls to the floor as apparently he was leaning so far out of his chair that Merlin was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Merlin!” Arthur looks thoroughly annoyed. “Can you sit still for one --”

“Arthur,” Merlin leans on the floor and grabs Arthur’s shoulders. “That story Kilgharrah told us. The legends say Merlin left the sword in Camelot so only he could find it.”

Arthur furrows his brow, still agitated. “Right, but do you think we could talk about this later --”

“What if it wasn’t left in a _Kingdom_ but a _painting_ of a kingdom.” Arthur’s jaw drops as he follows along with what Merlin is saying. “And you’d need a spell to get in and _Old Magic_ to get it out.”

\--

  
  


Merlin throws himself down the last ten stairs as he leaps toward the painting, landing on unsteady feet and probably breaking both his ankles.

“Merlin!” Arthur admonishes, but Merlin doesn’t seem to hear him.

(Arthur is also very excited to find the sword, save the world, all of that, truly. He just wishes Merlin’s timing of this wonderous epiphany had happened 30 seconds _later_ as he had sort of been in the middle of something that he’s been trying to do for _weeks_ but Merlin was making it near _impossible_ to be alone together.)

Merlin skids to a halt before the painting. The sun is setting in the painting just as it is in the window behind them, the sky a blend of pink and purples just before night descends. The parapets stand empty but there’s a touch of movement as something flies out of frame. “How do you think we get it out?”

Arthur scratches his neck. “The spell? That Kilgharrah taught to Morgana?”

Merlin bites his lip. “Do we trust him?”

Arthur shrugs. “Well, I used it to get the necklace out of the paper while you were in the hospital. And if he knew it was in here and wanted it, why wouldn’t he just come collect it himself?”

“Because he can’t use Old Magic…”

Arthur puts a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and tries to ignore the tingling sensation going through his fingers. “But _you_ can.” Arthur steps in front of the painting and taps his wand to it and says, “ _Animatis picturae_.”

The painting ripples and Arthur looks at Merlin expectantly. Merlin’s eyes are wide and panicked. “I don’t know what to do. Are we supposed to go find it?” Merlin steps right up to it and lifts a foot like he’s about to _climb in_ and Arthur grabs him around the waist and hauls him backward.

“You can’t go inside it!” Arthur’s mind helpfully supplies a rather terrifying image of Merlin trapping himself in the painting forever.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Merlin says as he pushes Arthur away, voice dripping in sarcasm. “I didn’t realize you were the almighty expert in painting reanimation! Please _do share_ your insight.”

The two glare at one another before Arthur lets out a large breath. This is _not_ how he wanted the evening to go. He takes a moment to study the painting before them trying to gather his thoughts. There’s no way they are supposed to go in there so it must be something else.

“Well if the original Merlin hid it...it must be something only he could use, right? Like a spell.” In the topmost corner of the sky a beast soars into frame in great looping spirals. He looks at Merlin with a raised brow. “Or like talking to dragons.”

“You want me to ask...the picture of a dragon?” Merlin asks dubiously.

Arthur can’t help the flush that creeps up his neck. “I don’t hear you coming up with any brilliant ideas!”

Merlin turns and lets out a big breath as he looks at the painting. “Er -- excuse me? Dragon? You wouldn’t happen to be able to fetch a sword for us, would you? Perhaps from the bottom of a lake?”

Arthur presses his lips together but a snort escapes before he can stop it. Merlin shoots him an angry glare. He holds up his hands in apology. “Sorry, but that was just your normal voice.”

“Well, I don’t know how to turn it on!”

“Maybe try to do whatever you are doing in your lessons. It’s Old Magic so doesn’t it all stem from the same thing?” Arthur shrugs. “Just think about whatever you were thinking about upstairs.”

An adorable dusting of pink coats Merlin cheeks and Arthur _really_ wants to ask what that is all about because _maybe_ he was thinking the very same things Arthur had been thinking about but then Merlin starts talking.

 _Talking_ is not accurate. It’s a growl, deep and powerful, resonating and rumbling, his eyes flashing bright gold and Arthur feels his mouth go a little dry.

(But it’s really not the time to think about that.)

From within the painting there is an answering screech and then the beast changes direction, rapidly approaching faster and faster and Arthur realizes the “door” into the painting is _wide open_ and the creature might very well fly into this castle.

He’s nearly frozen as he watches the dragon approach, completely blocking the castle, dark scales and sharp teeth, jaw open wide as it fills the entire frame. It roars louder and Arthur grabs Merlin roughly by the shoulder, ducking for cover. They both hit the ground with a thud, covering their faces, and Arthur is wondering how the hell this huge dragon is even going to fit in the hallway.

When the world doesn’t explode around them, he opens his eyes to see the dragon flying vertically upward, still in the painting, though its talons dip just out of the surface. Clutched tight within them is a long narrow bundle that breaches the surface with a soft _pop_. The talons open and the bundle hits the ground before them with a clang and then the dragon is gone, retreating into the sky from whence it came. The painting is of a castle once more.

The package is wrapped in a soaked fabric that is worn and weathered and _old_. Water pools beneath it. Arthur scrambles across the floor and tentatively unwraps a portion to see the gleaming hilt of a sword.

Merlin’s jaw is completely agape. “I think we just found Excalibur.”

\--

Morgana fiddles with the single slip of parchment in her pocket, staring without really seeing the food on the plate before her. She’s been waiting for Merlin and Arthur but they’ve yet to make an appearance despite the fact that dinner is nearly over. The letter in her pocket had dropped onto her plate just before she took her first bite. There was no name, no return address, just one hastily scribbled word: _soon_.

There’s only one person it could be from: Morgause.

What it means is slightly less clear. Did Morgause tell Agravaine and is he about to storm the castle and abduct Arthur? Did she actually work with what Morgana gave her and is Agravaine going to be sacked and hopefully sent to hell where he belongs? Or is it something else, something _worse_ that even she cannot fathom?

She’s also still reeling just a bit from her last lesson with Professor Nimueh.

She’s never seen her professor that frustrated.

(“What have your Visions been showing you lately? Still the ancient castle?” Nimueh asked at the close of an expectedly unsuccessful lesson.

Morgana shrugged. “Oh, well my dreams have stopped.”

“What do you mean your dreams have stopped?” Nimueh snapped, eyes hard and angry.

Morgana furrowed her brow in confusion. “It’s just -- they were -- I was lighting things on fire...in my sleep? And Professor Gaius --”

Nimueh sucked in a sharp breath and Morgana felt herself shrink. All at once her professor’s expression immediately softened. “I’m sorry, Morgana. It’s just -- it’s _very_ important that from now on you tell me everything, do you understand? Because Old Magic it’s -- it’s temperamental and sensitive.” Her answers didn’t quite make sense but Morgana found herself nodding anyway. “Now, what did Professor Gaius do?”

Morgana swallowed. “He gave me a tincture, to sleep. I wasn’t sleeping and I’m sorry I didn’t come to you.”

Nimueh shook her head. “No, no Morgana, no need to apologize. Your safety comes first and I’m glad you got help.” Morgana wasn’t sure she believed her. “But from now on you promise to tell me if there are any developments.” Her professor offered her a wan smile. “Learn from my mistakes.”

“You...you used to have Visions of Old Magic?” Why was this the first time Morgana was hearing about this? Why would Nimueh not mention that the moment Morgana confided in her? It would have made her feel much less alone those first few months.

Nimueh shook her head. “Not like you, not really. You know how Sight is. It tends to be more active in your youth. I just had small Visions I didn’t really understand they might have been Old Magic at the time and there was -- well, it doesn’t matter, it’s not important. Just know that Old Magic is fickle and if you don’t properly train with it and learn what it is trying to tell you, it will leave you forever.”

Is that what happened to Morgana earlier this year?

Morgana jumped as the crow in the corner screeched, effectively ending the session. Morgana promised to keep Nimueh informed and then she was ushered from the room. She is still not entirely sure how to feel about it.)

Someone sits down across from her.

“What got your knickers in a twist?” She sends Will a withering glare that he only returns with a wide smile. Oh that’s right, Will has no social skills. “I know you love me, Morgana. Your prickly exterior is all for show.”

Mordred sits on her other side. “Ignore him.”

“Ignore who?” She asks with wide eyes.

“Har har har, very funny,” Will grumbles.

“Are you alright, Morgana?” Mordred asks. “I just feel like...we haven’t seen you all that much this year. Well, you and Merlin.”

It feels like an accusation. A challenge. But she might just be paranoid. She shrugs. “Been busy. Difficult classes, father knocking on death’s door, puberty, you know the usual.”

Mordred narrows his eyes. “We’re just worried, Morgana.”

“You and everyone else.”

Will leans forward with a fierce expression and her stomach drops. Will has utterly no tact and will say whatever is on his mind and there’s a great deal she’d rather not share.

She’s saved by the evening paper landing between the three of them.

Around the Great Hall there is a sharp, collective gasp.

**_The Missing Minister: Agravaine de Bois Terminated as Minister and Immediately Takes Flight._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next Update will hopefully be up by Thursday/Friday.
> 
> Next Chapter Features: A high-stakes Quidditch game, the proposition of a date(s), and a long over due intervention.
> 
> Comments and kudos are amazing :D


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I've moved and my life is nearly back to whatever qualifies as normal at the current moment so updates should be regular once more. Thank you all for being so kind and amazing :)
> 
> But enough about me! Back to the story:

The front page sits on the floor between all of them, Agravaine’s usually greasy smile gone. Instead an angry snarl paints his features. The photo is old, likely taken well before he fled in the night.

Merlin clears his throat and starts reading.

“ ** _The Missing Minister: Agravaine de Bois Terminated as Minister and Immediately Takes Flight._ **

_By: Morgause Gorlois_

_Late last night while wizards across the nation slept soundly in their beds, a storm was brewing deep within Ministry Headquarters._ ”

Morgana snorts, “she’s certainly taking creative liberties with Agravaine gone.” She’s met with a chorus of angry shushing and she holds up her hands in apology.

Merlin continues.

“ _A group of prominent Ministry officials swept into the Minster of Magic’s office with an official censure removing him from the position only to find it vacant: papers eschew, boxes overturned, desk completely empty. It seems as though Mr. de Bois left in a hurry._

_‘It’s been a long time coming,’ says one junior level Ministry employee, ‘there’s been a lot of people unsettled by the way de Bois took over it’s just been a matter of getting the evidence.’_

_The evidence came in the form of a detailed package of information cataloging de Bois’ activities over the course of the past few years, beginning long before Uther Pendragon took ill, meticulously researched and incredibly thorough._

_De Bois’ journey begins at the legal offices of Pluckett and Potts, prominent Wizarding Law scholars. These two individuals bear the traces of sloppy, hastily cast memory charms and have no recollection of meeting with de Bois despite the evidence uncovered in their offices. It was from this office that it is believed de Bois discovered the information he needed about the Wizarding Council policies in order to obtain the position of Minister. A quick look through their archives found that their original Wizard Council Doctrine was merely a duplicate. Tests are currently being done to determine if the one in de Bois’ possession belongs to these scholars._

_‘This was clearly premeditated,’ Chief Warlock Annis Caerleon says, ‘He’s been working toward this for years.’_

_The plot thickens as we turn our attention to the sudden and unexpected illness of Minister Uther Pendragon. The document provided to Ministry Officials described an ancient charm likely used to poison the Minister back in August when he first took ill._

_An Auror (who chose to remain anonymous) had only this to say, ‘it’s too early in our investigation to charge him properly. But he has motive and the means so do with that what you will.’_

_With de Bois missing we can only speculate at what he was hoping to achieve. Was it really just the position of Minister he was after? Was he hoping to enact even more strict and limiting laws for Magical Beings other than wizards, similar to the Registration he employed? Until de Bois is brought in, we may never know.”_

“Well _we_ know,” Morgana says.

“Shhh!”

_“There is however, a glimmer of hope at the conclusion of such a grim tale. St. Mungo’s has officially announced that Minister Uther Pendragon is making promising strides in his recovery and will likely be able to return to home in the next few months. But he might be returning to a very different Ministry than the one he left."_

“Not to mention his home burnt down.”

“Morgana!”

“Good gods, all of you need to calm down.”

Merlin shakes the newspaper before him and continues.

_“‘This should have never been possible in the first place,’ Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Hermione Granger said in a press conference this morning. ‘It’s time we update archaic Wizarding Laws to the current times.’_

_To do just that the Wizengamot is planning an unprecedented public forum in the coming weeks to hear from the members of the Wizarding Community. All magical beings are encouraged to attend to have their voices and opinions heard._

_Who delivered this tip-off that saved the nation, you might be asking yourself. Who conducted the tedious research and investigation to take down one of the most corrupt Ministers of modern history? Well, the world may never know. But they must clearly be brave, clever, intelligent --_

“And the rest is just her complimenting herself in third person,” Merlin finishes. 

“So...we won?” Gwaine asks, looking from his copy of the _Prophet_ to the gleaming sword sitting on the teacher’s desk.

(Upon entering the room, Gwaine attempted to dive for it but Lance had physically restrained him. The group agreed that they probably shouldn’t touch it.)

Morgana watches Arthur shake his head. “It seems like it….”

Morgana bites her lip. “It’s too easy.” There is no way Agravaine’s villainous plans didn’t have some sort of contingency for this. There’s something else, something they can’t see.

Arthur sighs. “Morgana, can you not just accept that maybe things will work out without going horribly first?”

“Looking back on our escapades of the past year I’ll have to say _no_.” She and her brother glare at one another in a terse, stubborn silence. She knows Arthur agrees with her, he’s just putting on a show of nauseating optimism to make everything seem easier. Because pretending this is all behind them is certainly the easier of their choices.

There’s this feeling of dread under her skin and in her gut. The same feeling she had ever since Agravaine moved in with them over the summer. And it hasn’t gone away yet which means this isn’t really over. So even if her Visions are fucked, her _intuition_ certainly isn’t.

“This is so unfair,” Gwaine whines, drawing their attention shooting a rather longing glance toward the sword. “I’ve only been in the club for like a month and I didn’t even get to do anything cool or dangerous.” He crosses his arms and sticks out his bottom lip in a petulant pout.

Merlin snorts. “That’s what concerns you?”

“Morgana,” Gwen says, cutting off Gwaine’s monologue and she begrudgingly looks at her best friend. “What’s really bothering you?”

“It doesn’t make _sense_.”

Arthur huffs an annoyed sort of breath. “Nothing _ever_ makes sense.” She opens her mouth to protest but Arthur holds up a hand to cut her off. “Listen, we started this club to save our father. We did that. Then we wanted to remove Agravaine as Minister, that’s been done too. And the last thing was making sure he didn’t get this sword.” He points to the desk. “The sword is right there.”

“Speaking of,” Lance says, “what are we going to do with that? Even if we aren’t going to touch it...we can’t just leave it out in the open. The last thing we need is Filch or Cenred finding it.”

Morgana glances over at the gleaming piece of metal and narrows her eyes. Her annoyance at the fact that it has been in the stairwell just outside this room for the entire _year_ without any of them knowing has not quite diminished. She had really been hanging all her hope on the idea that once they had the sword, everything would suddenly make sense: the prophecy, Agravaine, all these missing puzzle pieces they still didn’t have. She thought the sword was the final key to solving this mystery. That hasn’t happened just yet and she’s starting to suspect it’s not going to happen until it’s too late. 

She shakes her head and looks back to the group. “I have a trunk sealed with Blood Magic. I’ll lug it up here and we can store it in that. Then no one can get it but me or Arthur.”

Arthur gives her a smile. “Another problem solved.”

It doesn’t exactly feel that way. Morgana gnaws on her lip. Maybe Arthur is right. Maybe this feeling will go away in time. 

Or maybe the worst is yet to come.

She sets her shoulders back and levels the group with a stern expression. A Queen holding court. “I’d feel better if Agravaine was in custody.”

Gwaine leans forward. “I think we all would but the entire Auror department is after him so it’s not like he’s going to be hiding for long. He was never that talented of a wizard.”

“Shockingly,” Lance says with a friendly smirk in Gwaine’s direction, “Gwaine and Arthur are right. We never should have thought it the responsibility of a group of kids to solve any of this anyway. I think it’s fine to let actual experts handle it.”

Morgana narrows her eyes. The group has turned against her and it appears as though she is on her own. 

Merlin gives her a small smile already sensing her defensiveness. “If you See anything or anything else mental happens, we can reassemble. But for now...maybe we don’t have to worry about a prophecy that seems entirely out of our hands. Maybe we get to be actual teenagers for a few days.”

Morgana rolls her eyes. Being a teenager is the _least_ of her concerns. “Yeah and do what? Finish my Astronomy homework and practice casting nonverbal spells and dye all of Will’s shirts pink again and have sleepovers in the Hufflepuff dorm and write foul things about Arthur in the girl’s toilets?”

Arthur shoots her a look, “that’s been you?” She gives an unapologetic shrug. “Morgana! That’s been going on since first year!”

“Yeah, well someone had to keep your ego in check and Merlin’s been really slacking in that department lately.”

Merlin ignores her pointed comment and raises his eyebrows. “If you really want to solve the prophecy we still can just...without this looming deadline, yeah? And maybe you can visit this summer and we’ll embark on a quest to achieve it. Find a missing kingdom, release a forgotten magic, save the world. We can even coordinate our outfits.”

She can’t explain it but she knows summer is too late. Whatever is coming...it’s coming sooner rather than later. But she doesn’t have any proof to convince the five people staring at her expectantly, all of them just wanting to get back to their normal lives.

“Fine.” She can feel the tension in the room ease at her words and it only makes her bristle more. The only silver lining is the ‘I told you so’ she gets to lord over each and every one of them for the rest of their lives will be oh so sweet when everything completely falls apart.

“If we’re done here,” Arthur says standing up and brushing off his trousers, “I believe my team has a Quidditch practice to get to seeing as we have a Cup to win.”

Morgana shakes her head. “How you can possibly equate a lousy trophy with the literal _fate_ of the world is beyond me.”

Arthur doesn’t deign to respond and his teammates follow him from the room.

Gwen gives her a worried look. “Agravaine is gone and your father is getting better. Everything is going to be fine, Morgana.”

If only she could believe that.

\--

The sun is a warm golden glow against his skin as he speeds down the Quidditch Pitch. The Quaffle soars across the pitch toward Mordred’s open and eager arms. Arthur leans forward on his broom, grasps the rough wood of the handle tighter and puts on a huge burst of speed.

“And it’s intercepted!” A booming voice echoes around the stadium, almost drowned out by the cheers coming from the Gryffindors, the audience nearly completely red. “By Pendragon! He’s got a clear path to the goals!”

He feels Gwaine flank him, in his peripheral Gwaine hits back a bludger sent by Will. Over the rushing wind in his ears, he hears Will cursing colorfully.

“Pendragon, shoots -- ooh he feints!” Arthur watches as Gilli dives toward the wrong post. Arthur steels himself and flies toward the right hoop, throwing the Quaffle as he goes. “Pendragon scores! That puts Gryffindor in the lead! Slytherin will need to -- what’s this? -- Perry’s seen the snitch!”

Arthur turns, Quaffle forgotten, and watches as Gemma streaks through the sky, a blur of red. “She’s caught it! She's caught the snitch! Gryffindor wins!”

The stands erupt once more and Arthur feels a bit like he’s floating, drifting on a wave of pure ecstacy. His team is already diving to the ground to tackle Gemma but Arthur only has eyes for the crowd. For one particular individual in the crowd.

He finds Merlin easily, standing next to Morgana, the only Slytherin cheering clad in Gryffindor red amongst a sea of sour faces. He soars across the pitch faster than should be possible until he floats just before the edge of the seats.

Merlin’s grinning in something like pride and happiness and Arthur’s chest is so full it could burst. And without thinking, without even a _trace_ of worry, he grabs Merlin by his scarf like he’s done it _1000 times_ before and Merlin laughs as he leans over the railing and --

“ _AHHHHHHH!_ ”

Arthur sits up with a jolt as the sound of a screaming banshee fills the Gryffindor dorm.

“ _Gwaine_ ,” Elyan groans from the other side of the dark room. “We’ve talked about this bloody alarm noise.”

There’s a sound of a moan and then the shattering of said alarm clock as Gwaine presumably tosses it to the floor.

Arthur lays back down and stares at the top of his canopy, the insistent drumming of rain against the window nearly in time with his racing heart.

He’d be lying if he said that was the first time he’s ever dreamt of Merlin (lying if he said all of his dreams stayed that...innocent). But that one had certainly seemed so _real_. And he _wants_ it to be real. Wants Merlin to wear his colors and cheer for him and be proud of him and snog him in front of everyone. He briefly entertains the idea of talking to Morgana about dreams of prophecy as never in his life has he wanted a dream to be a premonition _so badly_.

“Well, suppose that means it’s time to get going,” Leon says, ever the reasonable one, as he stretches and he rises from the bed.

Personally, Arthur would much rather get back to his dream. But he doesn’t think saying that will motivate his team to victory.

(And who knows, maybe if the dream will be a premonition after all.)

Breakfast is quiet as his team sits in anticipation. 

Gwaine looks from the rumbling sky above them to his food with a slightly green expression. “Think I might be sick.”

Arthur agrees, though again, he does not think disclosing such information would be great for morale.

They won the Cup last year and Arthur was feeling quite a bit of pressure for a repeat performance. With a loss in the first match and Ravenclaw winning their next two, they needed to win by nearly 300 points to even stand a chance.

And more than that...somehow in Arthur’s mind victory in today’s match and getting Merlin to fall in love with him have become hopelessly tangled and he cannot separate the two for the life of him. Because he’s tried talking to Merlin (sort of, he definitely tried once but then Merlin unleashed one thousand butterflies which sort of interrupted his plans). He’s not _good_ at talking. And Merlin is still making it very difficult to be alone together and it’s not as if he’s going to share his _feelings_ in front of _Lance_ or _Gwaine_.

So he needs a new plan. Like leading his team to a stunning victory and then Merlin will be so impressed he’ll just _have_ to snog him. Or something like that. The details are still rather fuzzy and undefined but he has a very strong feeling that the outcome of the match today and his future relationship with Merlin go hand-in-hand.

No pressure.

Someone sits by his side and Arthur nearly drops his spoon in his porridge as he sees Merlin’s grinning face. Unlike in his dream, Merlin is head-to-toe in Slytherin green. (The dream might not have been a premonition after all if Merlin's outfit and the weather are anything to go by). Merlin furrows his brows as he looks Arthur over. “Are you really nervous then?”

Arthur lets out a deep breath and offers a cocky smile he’s not sure looks convincing. “Of course not, Slytherin was last place last year.”

Merlin narrows his eyes, still seemingly searching Arthur for...something. It makes Arthur flush just a little. Whatever Merlin’s looking for, he seems to find it as he shrugs and gives a teasing grin. “Right but last year Daegal wasn’t our Seeker.”

Arthur relaxes. Merlin always knows what Arthur needs and right now he needs a distraction. He just hopes Merlin doesn’t know what he needs a distraction from. “Do you even know what that means?” He asks raising an eyebrow.

Merlin offers a sheepish grin and reaches across Arthur to grab an apple. Arthur has to physically restrain himself from leaning forward and smelling Merlin’s hair. There’s a chance he’s completely lost his mind. “No, but Will and Mordred have said it twelve thousand times this morning so it sounds a bit like it's their new prayer.” 

Arthur shakes his head and then clutches a hand to his chest in feigned hurt. “You won’t be cheering for me?”

Merlin smirks and gestures to his clothing. “Well, it’s not as though I have any Gryffindor regalia.”

And then Arthur must actually lose his mind. Because before he even realizes what he’s doing or given himself any sort of permission, he unwraps his Gryffindor scarf from his neck (the very one he received from Merlin’s mother as a Christmas gift) and moves to wrap it around Merlin all while Merlin watches with wide eyes, frozen, apple still clutched in his hand.

Arthur swallows and pats the fabric down. “Now you do.”

They’re close on this bench because they are _always_ close. Should he just do it now, forget his plan and get on with it? Merlin licks his lips and it certainly _feels_ like he should.

Gwaine loudly clears his throat and Merlin and Arthur spring apart. Merlin nearly falls right off the bench until Arthur catches him. “Now I’m definitely going to be sick.”

Lance hits him on the back of the head and turns to Arthur. “I think it might be time to head down to the pitch.” He’s smirking as he shoots his gaze between Merlin and Arthur and Arthur doesn’t care for that at all.

With a nod he stands, trying not to think about how in his mind there’s much more riding on this game than a simple House Tournament. If he wins, Arthur decides, he has to tell Merlin how he feels. And Merlin will hopefully be so impressed that he can’t help but feel the same way.

\--

It’s a gray dreary day as Merlin climbs the hundreds of stairs to the Slytherin section. Merlin sits next to Freya in the stands, ducking under her umbrella and out of the pouring rain.

“Where’s Morgana?” Freya asks as she holds out a bag of Bertie Botts beans toward him.

Merlin grabs a black iridescent one and puckers his face at the unnaturally sour taste. “I think I just got battery! Yuck, why would they even _make_ that flavor?” He shudders. “And Morgana is having a ‘girl’s day’ with Gwen. I believe her exact words were ‘I’d rather kiss a dementor than attend the match today.’”

Freya laughs and shakes her head. “She’s missing out. It’s supposed to be a good one.”

It is _not_ a good one.

It’s a toss up as to whether Slytherin has the best game of their entire lives or Gryffindor the worst. Mordred scores three times in a row, Leon not even diving for the correct goal once. Gwaine miffs the bludger he’s going for twice, nearly falling off his broom, and Will easily sends them back to Gryffindor. And Arthur...Arthur misses passes and shots and gets hit so hard with a well placed Bludger sent by Will that the entire stadium grunts in sympathy.

It’s nearly a mercy when Daegal catches the snitch an hour in and Gryffindor has only scored twice.

Merlin tries to cheer with his classmates but he’s got an uncomfortable knot in his stomach as he watches Arthur fly toward the ground the moment the whistle blows and practically Disapparates into the changing rooms.

“You going after him?” Freya asks with a knowing smirk and flick to his scarf. Merlin flushes and doesn’t bother answering. 

Of course he is.

Merlin heads down to the changing rooms (consciously not thinking about his last visit where Arthur had been shirtless and rather distracting).

The Slytherin team streams by on the shoulders of his Housemates beaming and screaming at the top of their lungs not minding the rain one bit. Will attempts to club him over the head with his bat but Mordred snatches it and hits Will upside the head instead. The next wave of bodies is much more somber, clad in gold and red. He passes the Gryffindor team (all but Arthur) each of them looking a mixture of furious, annoyed, and devastated. Lance pats him on the shoulder and gives a very ominous, “good luck.”

Arthur is not going to be pleasant to comfort.

Merlin nervously fiddles with scarf ( _Arthur’s scarf_ ) as he rounds the corner toward the changing rooms.

“Merlin!”

He turns at the sound of someone calling his name and is vaguely surprised when Daegel runs up to him, thoroughly soaked, snitch still in his grip. The Slytherins are probably well on their way to a wild party at the moment.

“Congratulations!” Merlin tries for enthusiasm but really he’d much rather just check on Arthur.

“I can’t believe we won!” Daegel is a year below him and practically vibrates with his enthusiasm. Merlin’s next smile is far more genuine as he realizes how excited Daegel must be.

“You did a great job. Now I actually need to --”

“Wait!” Daegel’s eyes are wide and panicked and there is a flush coating his cheeks. Merlin’s stomach turns in dread as his body evidently braces for what is coming before his brain does.

“Yes?” Merlin asks with great hesitation.

Daegel seems to flush even more. “I actually -- er -- wanted to ask if you would go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend? For a date?”

Guilt sweeps over Merlin as he stares at Daegel in shock. There’s a sound of a door slamming behind him and Merlin whips around to see someone in Gryffindor red practically sprinting in the opposite direction. The guilt gets more uncomfortable.

He turns back to Daegel with what he hopes is an expression of apology. “Daegel, you’re a really great person but --”

Daegel shakes his head and waves him off. “I should have known.”

“No it’s really -- it’s not you -- “

“There’s someone else.” Daegel is smiling and Merlin really wishes he could have a crush on someone like this instead of the absolutely arrogant _prat_ of a human being he is in love with.

“Unfortunately,” Merlin admits.

Daegel shrugs. “Everyone always says but,” he shrugs, “I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I didn’t ask.”

“I’m really sorry,” Merlin says, feeling thoroughly miserable. “Wait -- everyone says what exactly?”

Daegel raises his eyebrows comically high. “You’re having me on.”

Merlin purses his lips. “I’m really not,” he assures him.

Daegel shakes his head and starts backing away. “You both really are as hopeless as everyone says.”

“Who’s hopeless? Who is saying these things?”

Daegel nods over his shoulder. “I think I actually have a celebration to attend,” he says with a grin, “I might even be the guest of honor.”

“Daegel!”

\--

Morgana starts lecturing before she is even fully out of the common room.

“Arthur, this is getting ridiculous. It is one thing for you to accost my Housemates to pull me out of the Slytherin dorm but hunting me down while I’m visiting Gwen is really going a step too far. And why do you have to bully first-years!” Morgana gestures to the poor first-year Arthur had sent to get her. “Look at what you did to him, now he’s going to be afraid of prefects!”

Before Morgana can launch further into her tirade, Arthur cuts her off. “I kissed Merlin.”

Morgana hears her jaw click shut. The first-year Hufflepuff slowly backs away from the scene like moving too fast might trigger Arthur to become violent (probably a smart move). She blinks at Arthur for several long moments and she watches him shift uncomfortably under her gaze. He’s looking rather pale and ashen for someone who finally kissed the object of their infatuation.

Morgana blows out an annoyed breath as she realizes her sleepover plans have been hijacked. At least Elena would find it entertaining. “Come on,” Morgana says, “let’s hear it.”

The Hufflepuff Common Room is glowing, fires roaring, candles burning, making the gold of the room even more brilliant. It’s mostly full of students lounging around before heading off to bed for the evening. She and her brother earn a few cursory raised brows (Arthur’s Quidditch robes are _dripping_ ) as they cross the room to the far corner where Gwen and Elena sit.

Arthur grabs her arm before they make their way over to Gwen and Elena. “I don’t really want to talk about it in front of other people.”

Morgana tries to give him a sympathetic look but judging by her brother’s scowl it might come across as more pitying. “I really don’t think they’re going to be surprised by anything you have to say.”

Arthur flares his nostrils so she grabs his arm and throws him into the gold armchair and then takes a seat on the couch. With Gwen, Elena, and herself all sitting on the couch facing Arthur, she can’t help but feel like this is an intervention (likely long overdue).

Morgana gestures for Arthur to speak. “You were saying.”

Arthur scrunches up his face like he has a stomachache as he looks at Elena and Gwen but both of them just nod encouragingly. Arthur scratches his neck. “Er -- so -- I kissed Merlin.” Elena lets out a squeal and claps her hands together. Gwen does a much better job of hiding her reaction but she’s grinning. Arthur flushes red and scowls at them both.

When Arthur doesn’t say anything else Morgana tries not to grind her teeth. It’s going to be like gaining a hippogriff’s trust to get the information from Arthur. “So,” she prompts, “I’m guessing this didn’t _just_ happen or else you would still be snogging?”

Arthur seems to go more red. “No, it happened, er -- a few months ago.”

Gwen’s head immediately goes into her hands with a groan and Morgana can only blink at her brother. What the hell did he mean it happened a few months ago?

Elena looks between everyone. “So you’ve been secretly dating since then…?”

Arthur’s hands clench the cushions as if the conversation is making him want to destroy something. “Er -- no. We didn’t really... _talk_ about it. It didn’t mean anything. It was just so Filch didn’t -- didn’t catch Morgana.”

Something clicks into place. “It was that night that Mrs. Norris found us wasn’t it? Arthur that was like six months ago!” Arthur looks very annoyed but he nods. “Okay...so why are you concerned about it now? Did your emotional repression finally move this up in the queue of processing?” She earns a glower from her brother and a tap on the arm from Gwen.

“ _He’s trying_ ,” Gwen says which makes Arthur’s eyes narrow even more. Gwen gives a sympathetic smile. “What happened?”

Arthur gnaws on his lips and rocks slightly back and forth. One would think they were torturing him given his behavior. “Daegal asked Merlin out.”

Morgana sighs. “But you told Merlin how you felt?”

Arthur can’t quite meet her gaze. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Your _crush_.”

Arthur looks horrified. “I don’t have a _crush on Merlin_!” he hisses, glancing around to make sure no one’s too close to overhear.

Morgana looks at the two girls sitting next to her. “I really don’t think I have the patience for this, someone else needs to tag in.”

Gwen gamely leans forward. “Arthur.” He looks up in trepidation. “You need to be honest with yourself.” She looks at Morgana. “And maybe us too if you want advice. But start with yourself.”

Arthur buries his face in his hands. A muffled voice says, “does everyone know?”

“Well,” Gwen says in a rather high-pitched voice. “Probably everyone except for Merlin.”

He looks up rather dejected. “But I only just figured it out.”

“That’s ok!” Elena says. “It took me ages to realize I had a crush on Mithian, I mean not two whole _years_.”

Arthur looks rather alarmed. “You think I’ve had a crush on Merlin since fifth year?”

Gwen hums. “Probably before that even.” Arthur’s eyes go huge so Gwen carries on. “Do you remember when we went out? In fourth year?”

Arthur seems to blush more as if suddenly realizing he’s talking about his current infatuation with an ex-girlfriend. “Yes,” he mumbles.

“You spent the entire time with Merlin.”

Arthur shakes his head. “I’m quite sure that’s not true.”

“It is,” Gwen says wisely. “The only time we ever spent time together was when Merlin was there. And that wasn’t my doing.” Arthur’s looking rather horrified. “I’m not saying you were doing it on purpose, I’m just saying that you probably only thought you fancied me because of misplaced feelings for Merlin.”

This time Arthur grabs a throw pillow and buries his face in that. “ _Three years_?” he moans.

Morgana rolls her eyes and decides it’s time to wake up Arthur to reality. “Arthur, you’ve likely fancied Merlin since the day he called you the ‘Crown Prat of Hogwarts’ and you both earned detentions before you were even sorted!”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” he moans.

“It builds character to figure it out yourself,” Morgana tells him bracingly. “Now, the important thing is that you need to _talk_ about this with _Merlin_.”

“I’ve tried!”

She raises a skeptical brow. “Have you _really_?”

He sighs and looks down at his hands. “I suppose not.” He looks up at her and an unfamiliar look of fear and worry paints her brother's features. “What if he doesn't feel the same way?”

“Arthur, insecurity is not a good look on you.” Her brother glares. “Listen, Merlin is just as, if not _more_ , stupid than you. You two _deserve_ one another.”

Arthur pouts. “But he’s going to fall in love with Daegel.”

“Then I would tell him before that happens.” Arthur lets out a breath of air as if what Morgana just said is completely mad. “And you need to use your _words_.” Arthur glares. “I mean it!” Morgana yells. “If you want to win Merlin’s heart you need to start with _telling_ him how you feel.”

\--

Arthur is being…odd.

Well, Arthur is always a bit odd but he’s currently being _much_ odder than usual.

All throughout History of Magic he keeps _looking_ at Merlin and anytime he looks back Arthur hastily returns his gaze to the board or scribbles furiously in his notes as if he had been paying attention.

“Do I have something on my face?” Merlin asks on their way to Transfiguration.

Arthur, who has been _staring at him_ , jumps in surprise at the sound of his voice. “What? No, your face is -- great.”

Merlin scrunches his face up in confusion. “Is everything alright? Are you nervous about the Quidditch Cup?” Merlin looks up and down the hall and lowers his voice. “Did Elyan hit you with another Confudus Charm?” Elyan has become something of a menace now that he has perfected the nonverbal casting of that spell. He’s been spending _way_ too much time with Gwaine.

Arthur runs a hand through his hair, messing it up thoroughly but instead of looking like he just lost a fight with the whomping willow like Merlin does, he just looks artfully messy ( _bastard_ ). “No -- its nothing -- its -- I’ll tell you later. We’re going to be late.” And then he _runs_ away leaving Merlin looking after him.

Merlin doesn’t _think_ he did anything but given Arthur’s behavior something is clearly up.

Now as they are working on animating mirrors for long distance communication Arthur keeps opening his mouth as if he wants to say something and then closes it and shakes his head as if he changed his mind and then gives Merlin another _look_ through the mirror.

When they pack up Merlin gives him a serious stare. “Arthur,” Merlin licks his lips wondering if the overheard conversation from last weekend is the cause of all this unpleasantness, though he can’t for the life of him figure out why it would be. “Is this about -- did you overhear -- are you?” Arthur’s face gives utterly nothing away so Merlin takes a deep breath and says, “I just want you to know -- _for no particular reason_ \-- that I have absolutely no plans for the Hogsmeade weekend.”

Arthur seems to relax for just a second then he goes even _more_ tense. As if Merlin’s news has somehow made whatever he’s wrestling with _worse_. Arthur presses his lips together (which Merlin makes sure he does not stare at) and studies Merlin for a few long minutes. Finally he seems to steel himself and nods. He puts his shoulders back and takes a deep breath and --

“Mr. Emrys,” Kilgharrah says from the front of the room. “I need to speak with you a moment.”

Arthur looks both horribly relieved and annoyed and _races_ from the room. What is he on about?

“Yes, sir?”

The room is empty save for the two of them. The hairs on Merlin’s arms stand on end. He doesn’t like Kilgharrah, doesn’t trust him, and has done his level best to avoid him.

Kilgharrah hums. “That philosophy of yours you told me of all those weeks ago,” he pauses and studies Merlin for an uncomfortably long amount of time, “the one about not believing in a predetermined destiny? Do you still put your faith in it?

Merlin blinks a few times. Whatever he was expecting it wasn’t that. “Yes…”

Kilgharrah nods. “Best we keep that in mind.”

Merlin swallows. Does he know they have the sword? Does this have something to do with Arthur’s weird behavior or Agravaine’s disappearance? Or is he just playing some sort of elaborate mind game to drive Merlin to madness?

“I’ll be sure to do that, sir.”

Kilgharrah gently inclines his head. “Right you are. Now you best be off.” He looks out the window at the pouring rain. “Enjoy the afternoon.” Merlin’s not sure if he means it as a joke or not.

Throwing his bag over his shoulder, he flees from the room. Was Morgana right and did Kilgharrah know more than he let on? But then why wouldn’t he have just said that. And if he was evil, why would he be giving Merlin terribly unhelpful advice?

He is so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn't realize someone is in his way until he runs straight into them.

“Sorry I -- hey!” Very familiar hands are dragging him behind an alcove, manhandling him and pushing him into the wall. He glares. “Arthur, what are you --“

But then Arthur’s mouth is on his and he stops thinking entirely.

It’s like last time only _better_. Merlin had convinced himself that he imagined how good that last kiss was, no one actually kissed like that, except apparently _Arthur_ did.

His magic bursts to life in his veins, singing and searing, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the fire coming off of Arthur. Arthur pushes him further into the wall, his hands tight around Merlin’s waist and Merlin grabs a fistful of Arthur’s hair and Arthur makes a noise deep in his chest and Merlin’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be standing without the wall behind him. Then Arthur’s hands move to his face and tilt his head _just so_ and he licks into his mouth and it’s so _good_ all Merlin wants is _more_. Merlin’s sure he must be dreaming and he should probably ask where this came from but he’d rather not stop.

Arthur pulls back and oxygen rushes into his lungs all at once so fast it makes him a little dizzy. They’re both panting as Arthur takes a step back and Merlin thinks this is it, this is going to be the moment Arthur realizes he accidently grabbed Merlin instead of whoever he has been secretly snogging behind hidden tapestries (Merlin is both hurt that Arthur has been snogging someone else and also because Arthur didn’t feel as though he could confide in him) and then the two of them are going to go several weeks without speaking.

Arthur’s eyes are huge but his pupils are so wide his eyes are nearly entirely black. “I don’t --“ Arthur licks his lips which is very distracting and it's hard for Merlin to pay attention to the rest of his sentence. “I don’t want you to kiss anyone else.”

After a kiss like that Merlin is more than prepared to swear allegiance to Arthur for life so he can only nod dumbly and say, “erm….okay.”

Arthur makes a frustrated sort of noise and presses his forehead against Merlin’s. Arthur sighs. “I’m not…good at this.”

Merlin still has no idea what’s going on. “At snogging?”

Arthur growls which abruptly sets Merlin entirely on fire again. Arthur shakes his head, forehead still pressed against Merlin’s. 

“ _Do-you-want-to-go-out-with-me_?” Arthur says it so fast that Merlin's pretty sure he couldn’t have heard him right. Arthur’s studying him and then braces himself as he continues in a much smaller, more high pitched voice. “Next Saturday? For the Hogsmeade weekend?” Arthur leans back and bites his lip as if he’s unsure. “Will you go out?” A pause. “With me?”

Merlin feels like butterflies are about to burst through his skin (and since he knows he can do that, he is very worried his magic just might go ahead and make that happen). He beams at Arthur and can’t bring himself to be embarrassed at how wide he is smiling. “Yes.”

The bell tolls and both their eyes go wide as they sprint to the basement of the castle and stumble into Potions late. Seeing as Arthur looks slightly ruffled, Merlin's sure he must look horribly disheveled and he can feel warmth radiating off his checks. Everyone turns to stare as they take their seats and Merlin cannot meet the eyebrow waiting for him at the front of the room.

Gwaine throws his fist into the air and triumphantly crows, “I win the bet! I told you lot it would be second term, sixth year!” He takes a dramatic bow. “I will be taking payment in the form of galleons and --”

The amount of spells that hit him come from so many directions and as no one utters a single word, Gaius is forced to take 20 points from each house and send Percival to accompany the oozing, slug-like figure that was once Gwaine to the hospital ward.

But Merlin doesn’t even notice, he’s too busy trying to make sure he’s not smiling like the idiot Arthur always says he is.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter should be up by next Thursday/Friday.
> 
> Next Chapter features: A highly anticipated date ;)
> 
> Comments and kudos are amazing :D


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to stop pretending like I have any sort of grasp of what day of the week it is and trying to predict when I will post the next chapter. This is finished (save the epilogue) so chapters will come out every few days as I edit them :)

Arthur lets out an annoyed huff as he studies himself in the mirror.

Gwaine’s head appears over his shoulder. “You’ve changed three times, I reckon if you haven’t found the right outfit by now, you might want to accept defeat. _Ow_.” Gwaine rubs the back of his head and Lance appears over his other shoulder.

“You look great Arthur, you don’t need to be so nervous.”

Gwaine nods. “You definitely don’t need to change three times.”

Arthur glares at the both of them. He’s changed four times, not that he’s going to admit it.

Gwaine gives him a once over. “Though if you are going to change again, you should wear your other jeans, they hug your -- _OW_!” Gwaine clutches his head and turns to Lance in offense.

“I don’t remember asking for your _advice_ ,” Arthur growls taking in his appearance and then begrudgingly reaches for the jeans Gwaine recommended.

His roommates make themselves comfortable on their beds and Arthur doesn’t know how to kindly convey that he’d rather they just piss off and leave him alone.

Lance gives him a smile with raised eyebrows. “He likes you, Arthur.” 

Lance, Arthur decides, can stay.

“Yeah,” adds Gwaine, “despite how you’ve treated him these past six years.” 

Gwaine, Arthur decides, has got to go.

A book flies across the room and nearly knocks Gwaine upside the head. Lance twirls his wand with a mischievous smirk.

“Your nonverbal magic is really coming along,” Arthur tells him. The attack on Gwaine in Potions the other day was more than proof of how far the whole year had advanced in silent spells but Lance’s boil hex took Madam Pomfrey ages to remove from Gwaine’s arse (a fact that Arthur learned against his will when he and his other Housemates had gone to visit Gwaine in the hospital). Lance shrugs modestly and Arthur forces himself not to look in the mirror again.

It’s so stupid that he’s nervous. It’s _Merlin_. He’s spent almost every hour with Merlin for the entire _year_. He’s even _snogged_ Merlin. So he should not feel slightly ill and his palms shouldn’t be sweating and his breath shouldn’t be coming in rather sharp painful bursts. He and Merlin have quite literally faced monsters and villains and taken down evil governments while standing side-by-side they could definitely handle _a date_.

(Probably.)

It’s just...this is something he’s wanted (even though he wouldn’t admit it) for a very long time and he wants it to go _perfect_. And seeing how things usually pan out with Merlin he’s rather nervous that won’t be the case.

The week leading up to the Hogsmeade trip has been fine. In fact, there was almost nothing different about how he and Merlin interacted with one another. They still argued and bantered and the only real difference was that whenever Arthur gave Merlin a smirk he would blush and hastily look down at his notes and Arthur _really_ wanted to kiss him again (although, that also wasn’t a terribly new feeling either).

So the date should be fine, right?

Lance takes pity on him. “Why don’t you join us for a game of Exploding Snap in the Common Room? Most people are still down at breakfast.”

“Yeah, alright.”

He makes it two rounds before he’s pacing the length of the room again. As his path crosses in front of the portrait hole for the third time he nearly collides with a rather annoyed looking Morgana when she falls through. He reaches out his arms to steady her in shock. The last time she’d been here it had been to pull the necklace out of the newspaper. She jumps to her feet and dusts herself off, rounding on Arthur with her eyes flashing menacingly.

Tossing her hair over her shoulder she says, “Arthur, if I have to listen to Merlin talk about the magical physics involved with the Put Outer for one more minute I am going to _murder_ him, so unless you would like to go on your date by yourself, _please_ leave with him immediately.”

Merlin falls out of the portrait hole as gracelessly as usual. He’s blushing to the tips of his ears and he’s wearing a dark blue button down shirt that makes his eyes look even brighter than usual. His hair is its standard messy disaster as if he's been running his hands through it like he does when he’s nervous and all its really doing is making his ears stick out more than usual and Arthur wants to kiss him on his stupid face in front of all these people.

But he doesn’t want _Merlin_ to know that.

He raises an imperious eyebrow and gives Merlin one of the smirks that have been making him blush. “Eager, were we?”

“Princess,” Gwaine calls from clear across the room, “you might want to head out before I tell Merlin about how long it took you to get dressed. He can thank me for the -- _oof_.” This time it’s Arthur who sends a book across the room to collide with his gut. Gwaine is a _menace_. 

Merlin scratches his neck, his face slightly scrunched up, still looking rather pink and adorable. “So d’you wanna go?”

“Yeah.”

Merlin beams. “Okay.”

Arthur finds himself grinning back. “Okay.”

“For the love of Circe,” Morgana growls and grabs both of their shoulders and pushes them toward the portrait. “Just fucking go already before I throw up my breakfast!”

He and Merlin shuffle awkwardly down to the entrance hall, not really talking but Arthur keeps stealing glances at Merlin out of the corner of his eye and he sees Merlin doing the same. Should they be talking? That’s what people are supposed to do on dates, isn’t it? He’s pretty sure he and Gwen talked when they went to Hogsmeade together in fourth year (although, looking back, Gwen was indeed right as they had met up with Merlin almost immediately).

The line to leave the castle extends well up the entrance stairs as they wait for Filch to check them off the list, looking very annoyed and irritated. Normally Longbottom clears students for departure but since the Wizendgamot’s public forum was today, the job has fallen to Filch. And seeing as seventh years were permitted to attend, there were loads of students trying to leave.

After an agonizingly awkward wait, Filch finally clears them with a glower and they head out through the castle doors. Just as they step out the door a huge boom of thunder rattles the world. The sky is so ominous it is nearly black. Not a terribly good omen.

He looks over at Merlin who just shrugs and says, “I’ve always enjoyed a good thunderstorm.” 

“Oh, I’ve always preferred sunny days.” And Arthur wants to throw himself off the astronomy tower. They’re making _small talk_ , something they haven’t _ever_ done because Merlin’s idea of small talk is asking someone about their hopes and dreams and fears. And the small talk they’re making is about the weather, easily the most _boring_ topic they could be discussing.

Arthur decides to switch to an equally boring topic but one likely to keep Merlin going. “What’d’you think of Potter’s last lesson?”

Merlin rolls his eyes dramatically and takes a deep breath like he’s preparing for a long speech. “Too easy! He’s been hinting _all_ _year_ that we’re going to have to identify the difference between Ghosts and Shades and he brought in the _Headless Huntsman_? The most identifiable ghosts of _all time_! Seeing as they don’t have _heads_! All while Nearly Headless Nick was angrily pouting in the hall before we even entered the room! Give me a break. I can’t tell if all of this is an elaborate plan to lull us into a false sense of security for the exam or…”

He nods along to Merlin’s tirade but his mind is elsewhere. Arthur’s palms sweat as they head down the path to Hogsmeade. Was this a mistake? Was this going to ruin their friendship? Arthur doesn’t know what he’d do without Merlin by his side.

When they get to the village the sky looks ready to burst but before he can step onto the main path Merlin grabs his hand and drags him behind the first building they pass.

And then Merlin pushes him against the back wall of the building and snogs him within an inch of his life.

His brain spares one thought to wonder if anyone can see them as he can still hear the laughter of his classmates as they run into buildings before the storm hits but then Merlin’s tongue is in his mouth and he stops worrying about anything at all. He tangles one hand in Merlin’s hair and wraps the other around his back bringing them as close as possible. Merlin hums a pleased sort of noise that makes Arthur catch fire and Merlin tastes like honey and ozone and magic and gods Arthur might be just a little bit in love.

Merlin pulls back to say something but Arthur’s lips chase his and Merlin laughs into his mouth and Arthur smiles against him. They exchange lazy kisses against the building and _this_ is what Arthur would call a perfect day. He shivers as Merlin’s magic rushes over his skin and he feels a bit like he might be struck by lightning, charged and electric, and that can’t be healthy but if this is how he dies then what a way to go.

Merlin finally extracts himself to gasp for air but Arthur snakes his hands around Merlin’s waist so he can’t go far. Merlin gives a small smile like he knows exactly what Arthur’s doing.

Merlin bites his lip and Arthur thinks maybe they should just stay here all day when Merlin says, “was that -- er -- okay?”

Arthur blinks. _Okay_ is a gross understatement. “Yes.” He pauses. “Obviously.”

Merlin grins with his dimples out and teeth showing and eyes crinkling at the corners and Arthur’s chest surges with an affection that nearly suffocates him.

Merlin shakes his head, a small smile playing at his lips. “Sorry, I just haven’t been able to think about anything else since you asked me out.”

The feeling in his chest surges even brighter and he finds himself smiling back. “Me either.”

Merlin grins again and though Arthur would deny it, it makes his knees just a little weak. “Should we grab lunch?”

Arthur wraps his arms around him and plants a kiss at the juncture of Merlin's neck, something that has been haunting him for _ages_. “Or we could stay here,” Arthur says against his skin.

A loud clap of thunder punctuates the statement as the sky opens up and douses the world with frigid rain.

And Arthur really can’t even bring himself to be properly annoyed because Merlin throws his head back and laughs, letting the rain patter against his face, his pale skin a stark contrast to the dark sky above them. Arthur is struck by how beautiful he is and Arthur can’t believe he didn’t ask Merlin out _years_ ago. Merlin catches him staring and gives a rather mischievous smirk as he presses their lips together again. “Later,” he whispers against Arthur’s mouth and Arthur does his very best not to shiver.

Merlin leans back but grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together. Arthur shakes his head. “I’ll hold you to it, Emrys.”

There’s another crack of thunder and Merlin throws his head back and laughs, blinking the rain out of his eyes. He pulls Arthur with him back toward the main path and Arthur doesn’t bother asking where they’re going. He’d follow Merlin right to the edge of the world.

\--

The castle is far more quiet than usual, a combination of students visiting Hogsmeade and a large number of the teachers and students attending the Wizengamot Hearing.

Morgana climbs up from the dungeons reading the horribly inaccurate horoscopes in _Witch Weekly_ (she would be reading the book on Old Magic in the evil lair but Gwen told her if Morgana read it one more time she would burn it and Morgana couldn't be sure she was joking.

But there’s a connection somewhere in the midst of all of this. Something between Merlin and the magic and the prophecy and the spell and the Unbreakable Vow and she feels _so close_ to understanding.

Tragically she is out of source material to spark new ideas.)

She’s so busy scoffing at the Aries horoscope ( _you will find love in that which you hold most dear_ , well it certainly fits the day _Arthur_ would be having) that she doesn’t notice she’s collided with Professor Nimueh until she’s nearly knocked her off her feet. Not for the first time, she really wishes her Sight would let her see the _very near_ future. Morgana’s magazine and the Professor’s parchment both go flying.

“I’m so sorry, professor!” Morgana says as she gathers up the other woman’s paper. She sees a long list of student names with two columns for check-marks.

Nimueh hands her the magazine with a smile. “It’s quite alright Morgana, I was just heading up to give the Headmistress the Hogsmeade list before she leaves for the Ministry. But tabloid horoscopes?” She says with a grin in her voice. “I didn’t think someone with skills like yours would indulge in such material.”

Morgana blushes slightly as they exchange papers. First she can’t summon ancient magic and now she isn’t even respecting the practice of Divination. Her professor’s opinion of her must be plummeting by the minute. “I don’t give them any merit, it’s just a bit of fun.”

Nimueh winks. “I know what you mean. Sometimes it’s nice to see how others interpret the stars. What does it say about Geminis?”

Morgana reads, “ _the thing which you fear most will come true, take preventative measures_.” Morgana gives a grin. “Sounds like you’ve a bad day ahead of you.”

Nimueh nods solemnly. “Well, I have been worried about getting my new velvet hat wet so I shan’t wear it to the village today.” Nimueh looks down at the list and then back up at Morgana. “Are you not heading to Hogsmeade today?”

Morgana sighs. “I never learned to swim.”

Nimueh gives a soft laugh. “Well, I best be off. Enjoy your day indoors,” she calls as she heads down the stairs.

Morgana’s reading about Scorpios ( _forgiveness will be the key to your success, though it will be hard to give. Lucky numbers: 3, 6, 17_ ) when someone else knocks into her. (Perhaps she should stop reading and walking at the same time.)

“Professor Kilgharrah,” she greets with a frown.

He merely raises an eyebrow at her slightly insolent tone. “The young Pendragon witch.” He glances down at her magazine. “You may want to pay closer attention to your surroundings.” It sounds like a threat. She grits her teeth but holds her tongue before she says anything further. Her eyes flick over and take note of the two students standing behind him and all the blood rushes from her face.

Cenred and Valiant.

Her heart picks up pace. “Where are you headed?” She directs the question toward the boys behind him who just glare back at her. Why would Kilgharrah be wandering around with Agravaine’s little Hogwarts henchman? This is more than just a suspicion, this is _evidence_.

Kilgharrah hums. “I do not believe it is the responsibility of professors to share their business with students. If you will excuse us Miss Pendragon, we need to meet with the Headmistress.” She watches as they head up the stairwell at the end of the corridor.

Part of her wants to follow, she knows it’s what Arthur would do but the Headmistress’ office is sure to be rather full and what use would it be waiting outside?

That missing connection is pulsing bright and red and angry, she can feel it itching at her skin. She needs to tell someone so they can figure it out together. She runs to the Great Hall really hoping that Gwen decided not to head to Hogsmeade or at the very least the rain sent her back early.

Just as she crosses the threshold and catches Gwen’s eye the world before her blacks out and she sinks to her knees as the first waking Vision she’s ever had consumes her.

\--

“Maybe if you stopped accosting him in class, Binns would grade your essays easier,” Merlin says, grabbing a chip off Arthur’s plate. “Then you’d be best in the year instead of yours truly,” Merlin adds with a cheeky grin.

The Three Broomsticks is loud and bustling with students and residents staying out of the rain.

Arthur takes a drink of his butterbeer glaring at Merlin.

(The butterbeer had been a gift from Gwaine as he had stood up on a table in the corner over a rather large pile of gold and declared he was buying a round for everyone in honor of Arthur and Merlin.

Merlin would have been slightly embarrassed but Madam Rosmerta had threatened to kick Gwaine out if he didn’t sit down and most of the other Hogwarts students were busy sulking and shelling out their pocket change to Gwaine rather than pay any attention to Merlin. Will was still painstakingly counting out his coins looking like he might have to offer up his watch as payment as well.)

“Maybe,” Arthur says with a scowl, “if he were a better teacher I wouldn’t have to accost him. You can’t talk about the formation of Gringotts unless you talk about the racist laws which forced the goblins to work in it!” Arthur rants. “And everyone today acts like it’s perfectly normal that the only job we allow goblins to hold is in a fancy prison that we made them build! Can’t _believe_ sixth years aren’t permitted to go to the Wizengamot Hearing, I have quite a few opinions to share.”

Merlin smiles and shakes his head at the boy sitting next to him. Ridiculous, Arthur Pendragon is so ridiculously noble it makes Merlin’s heart nearly _ache_. He’s pretty sure he’s never smiled this much.

The walk into town had been slightly awkward as Arthur was very stiff and unlike himself and Merlin couldn’t stop _talking_ in order to distract himself from how much he wanted to jump Arthur’s bones. Then he had lost all rhyme and reason and self-control and snogged Arthur against a building but that seemed to break the ice and the rest of the day was very fun. (Though there had yet to be more snogging.)

At Zonko’s Merlin tricked Arthur into putting on a hat that made him look bald and then Arthur retaliated by having Merlin open a book that clamped shut over his nose and then Merlin tripped Arthur with his wandless magic, sending him flying into a display of exploding fireworks and then amidst the screams and colorful explosions _Zonko himself_ had chased them off the premise, swinging a broom at them with threats of telling Merlin’s mum.

(Worth it.)

Arthur accompanied Merlin to Tomes and Scrolls to look through the newest book releases and then was absolutely _insufferable_ when Merlin went to checkout and insisted on buying it for him. Then Merlin went with Arthur to Sprintwitches Sporting Needs where _he_ got to be insufferable about buying Arthur the Quidditch gloves he wanted. Seeing as arguing with and annoying Arthur is one of his favorite activities, it’s been a rather pleasant day.

Merlin’s slightly surprised at how _easy_ it is. The other dates he’d been on (of which the number is few) had been bumbling and awkward, sort of like the beginning of today but he and Arthur had fallen right into their usual rhythm. Even this meal was almost like countless they had shared back at school except Arthur keeps pushing their feet together under the table and giving Merlin these _looks_ and Merlin is one second away from sneaking them into home so they could have some privacy.

(Only his fear of his mother gives him pause. Even if she did feel bad about keeping secrets from him and Merlin was sort of avoiding her, she would still kill him without hesitation if she found out that he _actually_ had a boy over without her permission. And then she would kill Arthur. And then resurrect the both of them so she could kill Merlin again by embarrassing him to death.)

“Tell me a secret,” Merlin says before Arthur can really get going about the injustices goblins have suffered. (Merlin completely agrees with Arthur but he’s already heard this speech _many_ times and Arthur’s going to jump from goblins to house elves to basically every magical creature and Merlin figures if he and Arthur are going to maybe (hopefully) be dating, he’s going to hear it many more times.)

Arthur gives him his usual puzzled look while he’s trying to figure Merlin out. It makes Merlin grin. Arthur raises an imperious eyebrow. “A secret?”

“Yeah, it’s something that you haven’t told anyone else --” Merlin ducks before Arthur can push him off his seat.

“I know what a secret is, _idiot_.” Now Merlin knows he’s not imagining it when he hears a completely different word when Arthur says idiot. “Why do you want one?”

Merlin shrugs. “That’s what you do on dates, yeah? Get to know each other better.” Arthur flushes slightly red at the word “date” and Merlin leans forward with a grin. “We already know everything about each other so we’re going to have to dig pretty deep to find any new information.”

Arthur studies him for a minute before nodding as if he’s accepting a challenge. So ridiculous, the way he faces everything like a battle to be won. Merlin can’t believe he fancies him. “Fine,” Arthur says, “but you first.”

Merlin pauses, considering what to share. “Do you remember the Dueling Club second year? When we faced each other that first meeting?” Arthur nods, Merlin gives a sheepish smile. “I used my wandless magic.”

Arthur’s jaw drops in offense. “You _cheated_!”

Merlin feels his smile go wide. “I would love to tell you it was an accident but it wasn’t, I just really wanted you to fall on your arse in front of everyone else so I could laugh at you. You were such an arrogant, prat.” Merlin pauses, chewing on another chip. “Still are, come to think of it. Someone had to take you down a few pegs.”

He earns a kick under the table and he throws his head back with a laugh. Arthur shakes his head, clearly losing a battle with amusement. “However were you going to keep your wandless magic a secret when you used it for such petty things?”

Merlin shrugs. “If it makes you feel better Gaius had me scrubbing his leech tank for _weeks_ after. And he made do lines! ‘I shall not use inappropriate magic to teach prats a lesson.’” He dodges Arthur’s next kick and laughs harder. “That might not be exactly what I wrote but that was definitely the idea.” 

He sobers just a little at the mention of Gaius’ name and Arthur gives him a soft look. “Have you talked to him yet?”

Merlin runs his fingers over the table, letting the rough grain of the wood catch on his fingertips. “No...I haven’t answered my mum’s letters either. I just...I really have no idea what to say. It’s like… it’s like my whole life there was this man who just didn’t exist really. Even the pictures my mum has he’s not even in those she always said he was camera shy and so I just grew up comfortable with the idea that I wouldn’t ever know him. He’s this chapter in a story that I won’t ever get to read. And now suddenly he _did_ exist and he’s _important_ but I still don’t know who he is or what he’s supposed to mean to me. And he’s still gone so I can’t exactly ask him and there’s this Unbreakable Vow so even if I had questions, they can’t be answered. So it sort of feels like...why bother trying? And I don’t know how to forgive my mum and Gaius for something I still don’t understand.” Arthur’s still studying him when he looks up. “What would you do?”

Arthur blows out a large breath. “I’m quite possibly the worst person to ask.” Merlin finds himself grinning just a little. “But...maybe with Agravaine gone Geoffrey Monmouth will reappear and you can ask him.”

“And you too,” Merlin adds because though Arthur rarely discusses it, he knows he desperately wants to know more about his mother. Merlin swallows and nods at Arthur, wanting to shift away from the heavy weighted topic. “Your turn. Tell me a secret.”

Arthur bites his lip and Merlin once again reconsiders the idea that they shouldn’t just risk his mother’s ire. “You have to promise not to laugh,” Arthur says.

Merlin leans forward. “I think we both know that’s a promise I won’t be able to keep but I can promise to do my best.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and then hits Merlin with a look of such sincerity it makes his heart _ache_. “I only signed up for Care of Magical Creatures because I found out you were taking it.”

Merlin grins. “Really?”

Arthur nods. “I got the OWL, obviously, and I considered dropping it but then I heard Morgana mention to Gwen that you were taking it and then before I realized what was happening I was telling Longbottom to add it to my schedule.” He shakes his head looking rather embarrassed. “Not sure how I convinced myself that I didn’t fancy you after that. I’m really very good at lying to myself.”

“Well, I think this year turned out all right in the end. Evil tyrants aside.”

“‘Course it did. You’re going on a date with the most eligible bachelor at Hogwarts.” Arthur gives him another _look_ and it takes everything in Merlin’s power not to dive across the table to snog him right on his stupid arrogant mouth.

\--

St. Mungo’s is quiet for a Saturday, the lobby empty of all but the Welcome Witch who doesn’t even look up to see who has arrived, never taking her eyes off the book clutched in her hands. With so many wizards heading to the Ministry a great number of Healers have stepped out for the moment. A tiny smile curls right at the corner of Morgana’s mouth.

It’s such a lovely feeling when months of meticulous planning pan out the way you intended.

(Only, she’s not really smiling, not with her mouth and _Morgana_ hasn’t planned anything. And the excited feeling bubbling in her stomach is making her nauseous.)

“Excuse me,” the Welcome Witch says as Morgana steps to the doors to the hospital. “You need a pass for entrance, I’m going to ask you to --”

She sends the spell with a lazy flick of her wand and the Welcome Witch’s arms snap against her sides and she falls with a thud to the floor, eyes open in shock.

Morgana climbs the stairs without hesitation, encountering no one as she heads to the fourth floor, Digby Donohugh ward, room 4C. A prickling sensation creeps down her spine as she touches the door knob and the hairs on her neck stand on end. She looks over her shoulder but no one is there. Though she can’t shake the feeling that she’s being watched.

The door turns without resistance and she smiles as the small ashen figure that was once the Great and Feared Minister of Magic.

Was once a tyrant of a King.

She places her wand right at the hollow of her throat and feels the magic seep into her vocal cords. “Hello, Uther,” she greets.

(The voice is strange, Morgana can hear it distorting as she speaks but underneath it is the cadence of a voice so _familiar_ Morgana knows she should be able to place it.)

Uther Pendragon, weak though he appears, turns a long-practiced glare on her. One she’s received one too many times before. “ _You_ ,” he snarls.

Morgana’s mouth stretches into a sinister smile. “Me.”

Uther Pendragon reaches around blindly for a wand that is locked away for his own protection. “I should have known. You never wanted me as Minister.”

Morgana laughs, loud and cruel. “If you think this has anything to do with matters as pathetic as politics then you are just as _stupid_ as I always suspected. I warned you, years ago. And now I’ve come to collect my payment.”

Uther’s face visibly blanches and a surge of triumph sweeps over her. “ _The prophecy_ ,” he breathes.

“Correct. And you, Minister, are in luck. You are going to prove just as useful as you’ve always dreamed.” Uther pales even further as Morgana stalks across the room toward him wand raised.

“Arthur?” Uther gasps, panicked.

(Morgana feels a small pang of gratitude. If nothing else at least their father is worried for the well being of his son.)

“You’ve seen the prophecy sitting on that shelf same as I, Uther Pendragon. You know exactly how this is going to play out.” Then Morgana raises her wand with a sharp upward stroke and snarls, “ _stupefy_!”

There’s a feeling like a bucket of ice water has doused her when Morgana comes to with a shuddering breath. Hands rough against the cool stone of the castle, knees bruised as she crouches on the floor. There’s a cluster of students around her in the Great Hall (probably every single person who didn’t go to Hogsmeade).

“Morgana?” Gwen’s voice is nervous from where she’s kneeling next to her.

“He took him and now he’s coming.” She tries to stand but Gwen pushes her back down.

“You shouldn’t stand.” Gwen’s eyes are wide. “Freya went to get Madam Pomfrey but we aren’t sure if she stayed today or not.”

Morgana shakes her head. “That doesn’t matter!” She can feel the uncertain looks the other students are giving her but she can’t bring herself to care. “Agravaine!” Even though she didn’t recognize the voice, she knows Agravaine has something to do with it. Gwen stops and stares at her intently. “He’s doing something with the prophecy and he’s going to come for Arthur!”

\--

The rain is coming down in thick sheets, blurring the world completely when Arthur and Merlin finally head back to the castle, following several paces behind most of the students so they are just a smear of bodies looming on the far horizon.

Arthur smirks at Merlin from under his umbrella as they near the gates to the castle grounds, the two of them crouched low to stay out of the rain (Merlin’s pretty sure Arthur’s enchanted the umbrella to keep you dry just by being in contact with the handle, but he’s not about to call him out on that).

“You know it’s funny,” Arthur says, head tilted toward Merlin, “I don’t recall you asking to share my umbrella.”

“Come on, Arthur!” Merlin admonishes, fighting a grin. “You’ve been such a chivalrous date so far! Don’t go and ruin it right at the end.”

Arthur knocks into his shoulder, sending Merlin stumbling toward a pile of mud but Arthur’s hands bunched in Merlin’s jacket keep him righted.

Arthur’s retort is cut off by a crack of thunder loud as canon fire. The second pop that quickly follows has Merlin’s magic surging up in a sharp warning.

They look over their shoulders to see two figures clad in black robes stalking toward them through the rain.

The umbrella clatters to the ground as they both go for their wands and Merlin is doused with an icy cool rain.

There’s a flash of red light from one of the assailants but Arthur’s is already hurling a shield charm before them and the spell ricochets off and upward into the dark sky.

Merlin turns to Arthur. “They’re here for you.” He takes a breath and settles his magic, just as he’s been practicing with Morgana, feeling it inside him, steadying it to release it into the world.

Another flash of light, this time blue and it’s Merlin’s turn to throw up a shield. “Merlin,” Arthur warns, looking worried but resolute as if ready to face his fate head on.

Merlin smiles, hoping Arthur will forgive him. “I reckon it’s my turn to be recklessly noble, don’t you?”

“ _Merlin_ \--” Merlin cuts him off by hitting him with a wave of wandless magic, propelling him through the gates to Hogwarts grounds where Agravaine’s men won’t be able to cross. He watches as Arthur sails through the air and lands with a safe thud in the wet mud just beyond the gate, protected by ancient wards of the castle. He keeps a slight pressure on Arthur so he can’t stand up. He’s too noble which makes him a danger to himself and Merlin’s not going to let him put himself in harm's way. Ahead of them on the path, there is a cluster of students heading toward them, drawn by the Apparating noise.

That’s good, Merlin only needs to stall for a few minutes before they will overwhelm their attackers by sheer numbers alone.

He turns back to the two figures, magic stinging his fingertips and a flash of lightning cuts through the sky and burns the ground between them. Merlin’s not entirely sure if the fault belongs to the storm or is his alone.

Merlin thrusts one hand before him and feels his eyes flash hot as he sends a gust of wind toward the attackers. One manages to dodge the attack but the skinnier one is blown off his feet and lands down the street with a thud.

Blinking away the rain in his eyes he watches as the now familiar face of his attacker gets closer through the rain. He’s wearing the same snarl as he had on at the manor and at the hospital.

“I thought I made it clear last time!” Merlin yells over the rain, the storm swirling around him, rain whipping around his clothes biting his skin in a turbulent cyclone. “I’m not going to let you touch him!”

The man hurls a spell at Merlin which his magic halts mid-air, twisting the glowing red threads of magic until they dissolve and join the swirling storm around him.

He hears someone yelling behind him but he keeps the firm but gentle pressure on Arthur’s chest. Merlin won’t let him get himself hurt.

The second man staggers back to his feet and throws a spell at the gates which shudder and creak, the magic woven into the fiber of the metal groaning as it dispels the foreign magic.

Merlin hurls the storm toward the smaller man, blowing him off his feet once more and the other man presses his advantage and throws himself through the tornado of wind and rain and magic spinning around Merlin. A violent hand grabs his shoulder but Merlin isn’t worried. His magic can knock these men off their feet and away from Arthur for hours. 

“You can’t have him!” He snarls.

The man smiles back, an evil thing that chills Merlin far more than the rain around him. He leans in close so Merlin can hear him clearly over the rain. “Then it’s a blessing that _he_ isn’t the one I’m after.”

The world seems to still at his words.

Merlin is back in Avalon Manor, weak from using his wandless magic, staring as a man emerges through a wall of flames, jaw open in shock as he notices Merlin and Arthur standing there and yells in surprise, _the boy is here_! 

Merlin is standing in the hall of a Wizard Hospital as an army of men appear just down the hall. _So stupid. So foolish._ The man taunts him because Merlin doesn’t understand what they are after. When the spells get violent, heading straight for him, a cry of _we need him alive_ rings through the air.

Merlin is in a classroom at the top of the tower while Morgana draws a line from his name to _Magic Itself_ in the same blood red as she did Arthur.

 _What if the prophecy bears my name?_ Arthur had said.

But now it’s clear that it doesn’t. They were wrong.

Arthur has never been the one Agravaine is after.

Merlin is back in the rain, a bruising grip on his arm as the unfamiliar sensation of being ripped from reality tugs at Merlin’s essence. He can feel the Apparition spell taking effect, pulling at his body and taking him elsewhere and he knows it’s too late to counter it. 

But Time has always liked Merlin and it slows just for him, suspending rain and freezing all the bodies around him, to give him a moment to turn and look back through the now halted rain.

And through it he sees Arthur looking angry, struggling against the invisible bonds of Merlin’s magic, but Merlin doesn’t release the gentle pressure on his chest. Because Arthur is safe. And that’s all that really matters.

There’s a moment suspended in time that hangs between the two of them. Where Arthur’s eyes go from angry to calculating and then wide as realization sweeps over him and finally landing on terrified. He thrashes against Merlin’s magic, yelling, begging to be released to take him instead. But the world is frozen save he and Arthur, and Merlin doesn’t really think these men would be in the mood for bartering even if Merlin let him. Merlin just gives him a small smile and hopes Arthur gets the message.

 _Let me save you_.

With a loud _pop_ Merlin is torn through Time and Space, the last sound he hears as his magic releases its hold on the world is Arthur’s anguished cry of, “MERLIN!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY. I KNOW THIS IS THE LAST THING WE ALL NEED RIGHT NOW. NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE UP SOON.
> 
> Next Chapter Features: Angst! and Action! and Camaraderie!
> 
> Comments and kudos are the best :)


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For sure did not think it would take me so long to edit these next three chapters. But they are very action packed and connected and I wanted to make sure all of them were completed that way there wasn't a long delay between updates.
> 
> So I can confidently say, next chapter will be up in a few days (or sooner depending on how impatient I get) :)

“MERLIN!”

Merlin turns to him in surprise, eyes wide and brilliantly gold, wind and the glittering sparks of magic swirling around him. The assailant next to him has his arm in a tight grip and he’s _smiling_. 

An understanding settles over Arthur like ice in his veins as he watches the other man tug slightly on Merlin’s arm, turn on his foot, and take on the stance for Apparation. 

Arthur’s heart leaps into his throat.

The feeling like a comforting hand pushing against his chest, keeping him pinned to the earth, preventing him from jumping up to help, gives one last squeeze.

Everything is slow and stretched and there’s the taste of honey so faint on Arthur’s tongue as Merlin manipulates the world around them. And then Merlin smiles at him, a smile so small and sad and _broken_ and then he’s _gone_.

“NO!” Arthur jumps to his feet and sprints toward the gate.

The second man Disaperates too and Arthur stands alone at the iron fencing, panic itching at his skin, clogging his throat.

They took Merlin and he didn’t _stop_ them.

They took Merlin because he was so _arrogant_ he just assumed Agravaine was after _him_.

They took Merlin and it is entirely his fault.

He doesn’t notice the fact that the rain has stopped or the pounding of feet against the damp earth behind him. He feels numb and empty and hollow. This can’t possibly be real.

“No,” he says again, as if maybe this time the universe will bend to his will.

Just behind him, someone calls his name.

He turns and sees a parade of students running toward him: led by Morgana, followed by Gwen and the Slytherin girl Freya, then Percival and Arthur’s Housemates, and rounding out the group is Will and Mordred.

“Arthur!” Morgana is soaked through without even a cloak on, as if she left the castle in a hurry. She throws her arms around his shoulders with a sob. “You’re alright!”

No, he really isn’t.

“They took him,” Arthur whispers it, the words painful as they are ripped from his throat. A begrudging admission that he doesn’t want to share as it speaks to his failure. And saying it makes this all the more real. He blinks against the sting in his eyes and gnaws on his lip to the point of pain.

Morgana leans back with her mouth agape, horrified as she takes in his expression. Her eyes go sharp and calculating as she’s catching up with what transpired.

Lance steps forward in alarm. “What are you talking about? Arthur, what’s going on?” Lance and Gwaine both glance up and down the path as if expecting to see --

Arthur shakes his head. Focus, he needs to _focus_ so they can find him, so they can go ahead and fulfill the prophecy after all, so Merlin doesn’t get -- “Merlin. Agravaine’s men took Merlin.”

Gasps and swears erupt around him but Arthur can’t be bothered to listen to who is saying what. Leon and Elyan both look ready to attack something and Mordred and Freya are looking rather nauseous. Will looks a mixture of horrified and furious. “What does Agravaine want with _Merlin_?”

Arthur doesn’t think he can answer and fortunately for him, he doesn’t have to. “There’s a prophecy,” Morgana whispers, shaking her head, voicing aloud the conclusions she’s drawn. “And it must...it must bear _Merlin’s_ name. That’s the only way Agravaine could know about Merlin. That’s the only reason he would want to take him. It wasn't...” she looks at Arthur with sorrow painting all her features. “It wasn’t about you. We were _wrong_.”

Anger surges sharp and violent through him and he rounds on his sister. “Do you really think that matters right now?” He yells. He knows he’s taking out his frustration on his sister but he can’t stop himself. Everything feels so incredibly hopeless and anger is the only emotion giving him any sort of ground. “Our shoddy _detective_ work? We need to find Merlin! If Agravaine is trying to stop the prophecy and all that takes is to kill --” his throat closes up and his eyes sting sharper. He turns his back on her to stare where Merlin had vanished, blinking rapidly, clenching his jaw so tight the muscle aches. He doesn’t have time for Morgana’s conspiracy theories. They never should have entertained them in the first place.

Then Morgana says perhaps the only other thing that Arthur could possibly care about at the moment.

“They took Uther,” Morgana says and he whips back around so fast his neck nearly cracks. She swallows and continues. “I had a Vision. A _real_ one. None of this seeing the past _horseshit_. Someone attacked him and took him from St. Mungo’s.” Arthur’s breath catches at her words. Merlin and his father were taken? Each event occurring within moments of the other? “They planned it for today because of the Wizengamot. Because nearly every wizard in the whole of our world is there right now. No one is going to even know father is _gone_.” Just like they had no one to tell of Merlin’s absence.

“Agravaine?” He asks, already feeling guilty for doubting Morgana.

Everyone around them exchanges incredibly alarmed looks as half of the present company is not read in on the situation but he really can’t bring himself to give a shit. Gwaine will undoubtedly fill everyone in the moment there is a break in the conversation.

Morgana nods. “I don’t know what he’s planning but I bet wherever they took Uther, _Merlin_ will be there too.” She gives a wan smile that doesn’t nearly reach her eyes. “Coincidences and all that.”

Reason cuts though his anger. “We can use Blood Magic to track father and then we can find them both.” Morgana nods but Arthur’s already seeing some flaws with that plan. “But those spells can take hours for fully trained wizards, we don’t have that kind of time.”

They don’t have _any_ time. Merlin has already been gone for too long as far as Arthur is concerned. But Merlin can hold his own, even if he shouldn’t have to because Arthur should be there _with him_ , that’s what the prophecy _says_. What use is knowing a piece of the future if it isn’t even going to happen the way it is supposed to?

“Er --” Mordred nervously shifts his feet in the loose rocks on the path and clears his throat. Everyone turns to look at him. He shares a look with Will. “We might be able to help with the finding Merlin bit.”

Gwaine raises a skeptical brow. “And how can you do that?”

Will scratches his neck. “We may or may not have planted a tracking device on a certain errant Slytherin.”

Arthur is torn between relief and horror. His eyebrows raise of their own accord. “You put a tracking device on Merlin?”

Will nods while Mordred at least looked a little embarrassed. Will squares his shoulders and says, “we put a tracking spell on the watch we got him for Christmas, you know the spell we learned in Charms that Merlin put on his cat’s collar? We thought of the idea after that stunt you three pulled in the forbidden forest, figured it might come in handy.” Will rocks back on his feet and sticks out his chest with a proud sort of grin. “Thought we weren’t paying attention all year, didn’t you?”

Morgana nods. “That’s exactly what I thought but your idea was brilliant all the same.” She turns to Arthur in excitement. “Will can use the tracking spell and we’ll follow it to find Merlin! Now all we need is transportation to get to wherever they are! They can’t possibly be far, Uther was in no state for any sort of travel in my Vision.” Morgana smiles like the news about the fragile state of their father should bring Arthur some sort of comfort.

Arthur glares at her. “ _You_ aren’t going,” he looks around the group and amends the statement. “ _None_ of you are going.”

Will crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows. “Well I reckon you’ve got to put up with me as I was the one who cast the spell so I’ll be the only one who can track him.” Arthur grits his teeth as he realizes the other boy is right. The spell would only work for the one who cast it. Of all members of the group he would like to take with him, _Will_ ranks dead last.

“And Will needs constant supervision,” Mordred says, sticking his chin out in a rather uncharacteristic display of defiance, “so I’m coming too.”

Arthur lets out a breath of frustration. Mordred also doesn’t list on the theoretical companions he’d like as backup. “I really don’t see --”

Morgana takes a menacing step forward and cuts him off with a sharp nail dug into his sternum. “And if you think I’m staying behind when I could have a Vision that might help us, you must be out of your goddamn mind,” she punctuates the statement with another sharp jab.

“Ow.”

Gwaine raises a hand. “And, if you remember, I never got to do anything cool or dangerous for the club, so I’m coming too.”

Lance gives him a beeching look. “Arthur, we all really care about Merlin --”

“Fine,” Arthur growls before anyone else can jump in and declare their fealty. The loyalty is admirable but he is not particularly in the mood for it. “But it’s probably going to be really dangerous and all your lives will be at stake!” If he thought that might change their minds, he is sorely mistaken.

“Just that?” Gwaine asked with a grin. “We all face that each time I brew a potion.”

Arthur glares at him. “This isn’t the time for _jokes_!” Arthur snarls. None of them really get it. None of them were in the manor with him and Merlin or at St. Mungo’s. The only people that even remotely understand how dangerous this is are Morgana and Gwen who faced Cedric all on their own at the Leaky Cauldron. 

He levels everyone with a solemn look and only receives defiant expressions in response. He shakes his head. “If you all want to help I can’t stop you but we need a _plan_.” And during said plan he can ensure that everyone else stays as far from the danger as possible.

Will clicks his tongue. “Is that not what we just decided?”

Morgana rolls her eyes. “What we just came up with was an _idea_ , now we need the fundamentals to get it done.”

“Like transportation,” Gwen offers.

“And battle strategies,” Lance adds.

“And a way to keep in contact with one another if we get seperated,” Leon says.

Arthur doesn’t have much to say in the way of the first two but as he stares up the winding path to the castle, he realizes he knows exactly how they could keep in contact. Their last Transfiguration lesson is already proving useful. “I think I might know how we can communicate but to get to it we’ll need a diversion.”

Gwaine rubs his hands together with a grin. “Do I actually get to explode something this time?”

Arthur sighs. “I cannot believe I’m saying this but you know what, Gwaine? You just might.”

\--

There’s a feeling like being sucked through a very narrow tube, his entire body compressed into a tight point, all the air sucked from the world, and only the feeling of a talon-like hand digging into his shoulder keeping him grounded to the earth.

Merlin lands with a thud on the ground and the feeling like his limbs have been stretched like taffy. The world is dark as night, though a quick glance above him tells him those are just the same dark storm clouds that were over Hogsmeade. So they haven’t traveled too far if the weather is the same. There’s traces of the storm still clinging to him, wind rustling his jacket, rain swirling around his ankles. He snatches his wand from where it landed in the mud but before he can throw a spell he’s hit with a jet of red light.

“ _Expelliarmus_!” His wand soars from his hand, through the air toward his attacker. “And cool it with this ruddy storm!” The man behind him gives him a sharp kick to the ribs.

Merlin’s gaze snaps up and something horrible and boiling twists his innards in a sharp surge of violent anger. He wants to rip this man to pieces, make him regret even coming for him but the sight behind him stops Merlin’s thoughts in their tracks.

The wrought iron gate must be _ancient_ , though undoubtedly in positively pristine condition, the delicate iron of the gate forged into the shape of a dragon. Behind it is a vast estate, stunning in its grandeur and beauty but just as old as the fence surrounding it. The roof is dark near the center of the building, as if it has been burnt to a char, though the towers on either end appear untouched.

The building is more castle than house.

A man with a smile nearly as oily as his hair stands before the gate. Forget the wand, Merlin thinks it will be far more satisfying to punch the expression right off his face. “Emrys,” Agravaine greets, “thank you for meeting me here today. All though I suppose a tour isn’t necessary as you’ve been here before.” He gestures with a wide sweep of his arm. “I have to say I don’t love your taste in redecoration.”

The Den of Dragons. So obvious in hindsight.

Merlin shoots him a withering glare. “ _Meeting_ implies I had some sort of say in the matter. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to reschedule.”

The smile goes wider. “I couldn’t be sure you’d accept an invitation. Best not to risk these things.”

Merlin stumbles to his feet and dusts off the mud from his knees. He might not have his wand but his magic is still simmering hot and electric under his skin, as if he consumed the storm and now it's ready and waiting inside of _him_. But it’s wild and uncontrolled and he’s so weak from the Apparation journey he’s not sure he can control it just yet. And Agravaine’s two men are still standing right behind him. Better to stall then. “I’d rather not play out the bad dialogue of an action movie if it's all the same to you. So why don’t we skip ahead to where you kill me or sacrifice me or whatever creepy ritual you intend to complete tonight.”

Agravaine laughs a fake noise that sounds like a fork scraping across a glass plate. “Well you are certainly spirited! _Much_ like you were last time we met.”

 _It’s a bait_ , a voice not unlike Arthur’s says in his ear, _he wants to throw you off so you want more information, put him in control._ Merlin takes a deep breath to keep his anger and magic in check. “I’m not sure I know what you mean. I don’t believe I’ve had the displeasure of making your acquaintance.”

The smile is still a touch too wide for comfort. “You don’t remember?”

“‘Fraid not.” Merlin crosses his arms already tired of Agravaine’s play at being an evil villain. “Why am I here?”

“Don’t play dumb it doesn’t suit you,” Agravaine snarls, eyes narrowing. “You know exactly what I am after and the contents of a prophecy as old as time.”

Merlin looks around with comically wide eyes. “Well then why don’t you just get on with killing me in a show of mercy so my last few moments of consciousness don’t have to be listening to you ramble. Or is your intention to bore me to death to thwart the prophecy? I think I prefer the Killing Curse.” 

Agravaine shakes his head, unnerving smile firmly in place. “You still don’t understand. All these months and you _still_ don’t get it, even with that old _bastard_ dropping clues for you every chance he got.” 

Merlin swallows and tries to keep his breathing steady. Agravaine knows Kilgharrah knows but Merlin still feels like he knows fuck all about _anything_. And his magic is still erratic, spiking seemingly at random. Probably shouldn’t let Agravaine know any of that.

Merlin adopts a phrase he’s heard Morgana say countless times and sticks out his chin in defiance. “You can’t stop Destiny. It would be easier to halt the hands of time.”

There’s a glimmer in Agravaine’s eyes that makes Merlin nearly shiver in fear. “See that’s where you’ve got it all wrong, Emrys. That’s the point that you have misunderstood so _thoroughly_ it has clouded all your other judgements.” Agravaine’s smile stretches wide and horrible across his face. “I don’t want to _stop_ destiny, I want to _ensure_ it happens.”

\--

“Arthur,” Leon’s voice is gentle from somewhere to his left. He shakes his head and looks up at the boy in the dim torch light of the castle hallway. The world outside is still dark from the storm clouds though all the rain has vanished.

Merlin had taken the storm with him.

“Let’s go,” Arthur whispers, voice rough and gravely.

Leon gives him a long look, “you don’t have to --” 

An explosion on the floor below them cuts Leon off.

“Yes,” Arthur says, peering around him down the hall, empty and silent, just as they had planned, “I really do.”

Everything feels a bit surreal. Like he’s not really here, like a huge piece of him is missing, a knife has wedged its way between his ribs making it hard to breathe, as if he’s in a truly terrible nightmare and maybe he’ll wake up and it will be morning again. And his biggest worry is going to be what color shirt to put on for his date with Merlin.

Gods was that this morning?

Another explosion rocks the floor and the sound of Filch’s yelling carries up from the stairs.

Leon and Arthur creep down the hall, ignoring the pointed looks and clicking tongues of disapproval from the portraits as they stand before the door to the classroom, which is cracked open just a hair.

Just as Gwaine said it would be.

(“How do you know the explosions will loosen the door from it’s frame and it just won’t shut and seal itself?” Lance had asked as he and Elyan were funneling dung powder into their bomb casing. Arthur looked up from where he was cracking open old shells littered around their dorm. 

Reusable dung bombs were a Gwaine specialty.

Gwaine had given a rather scathing look. “I’ve snuck my way into enough offices to know the proper procedures, Prince Charming.”

Elyan rolled his eyes. “Well, how do we know Kilgharrah won’t be in the office?”

Arthur answered. “Because Morgana said he wouldn’t.”

It was a new thing Arthur was trying out. Trusting his sister without her providing a ten page essay detailing why. She had seemed just as surprised as he was when she said the office would be vacant and Arthur had just taken her at her word.)

Leon shakes his head. “Very occasionally I worry about Gwaine’s actual intelligence. If he’s able to devise schemes to break into classrooms, shouldn’t he be doing better than all of us academically?”

Arthur pushes through the door. “For the sake of my dignity, let’s be glad he isn’t.”

The Transfiguration professor’s office is empty, only a few candles on the teacher’s desk light the room. Judging by the pooling wax at the base of the candles, Kilgharrah has been gone for quite some time. The desk is covered in stacks of parchment, marked up with red ink, the chair pushed back from where Kilgharrah must have left in a hurry. Arthur narrows his eyes at the seat but pushes any of his feelings or suspicions of the man to the back of his mind. 

One problem at a time.

He hastily makes his way across the room. Gwaine had promised them only five minutes, he shouldn’t waste precious time.

Arthur approaches a cabinet he spent a decent amount of time in just a few weeks prior.

“ _Alohomora_ ,” Arthur whispers, pointing his wand at the thick lock. It shatters and he rips the door open, grabbing a handful of delicate mirrors and stashing them in the pockets of his cloak. He’s tempted to only take a few. Leon seems to know what he’s thinking and grabs another handful and Arthur scowls venomously.

“We’re going to need them,” Leon says. Arthur only scowls harder. 

If he had it his way, they certainly wouldn’t but he’s yet to convince the team of self-sacrificing _idiots_ he calls friends to stay behind.

At the door to the Transfiguration classroom, Elyan pokes his head in the room. “Time’s up! Next set of bombs are going off in this corridor in less than a minute and you _really_ don’t want to be in here when that happens.”

“We’ve got them,” Leon says.

They race from the room and head toward the barn. 

Now Arthur just has to hope the others are as successful as they were, Filch is sufficiently distracted, Kilgharrah is actually in the Headmistress’ office, and Merlin wherever he is, is all right.

\--

Freya stops outside the stable door and presses her ear against it. “I’m fairly certain Hagrid is still at the Wizengamot since he’ll be translating for the Giants.” She turns and gives Gwen and Mordred an encouraging smile. “Sounds like the Wilddeoren are sleeping. Just keep your voices down, if they start screaming it’s going to be _much_ harder to get any of the animals outside.”

Mordred and Gwen share equally alarmed looks.

Freya slips the key to the barn out from a chain underneath her scarf and clicks it into the heavy lock. The perks of being President of the Magical Agriculture Club.

Gwen’s feeling rather nauseous.

(“So there’s communication sorted,” Morgana said after Arthur and Gwaine hashed out a probably unnecessarily explosion-heavy plan to nick the two-way communication mirrors. “We still need transportation.”

“The Knight Bus?” Elyan had asked.

Gwen shot her brother a skeptical look. “Elyan, every wizard in the country is currently taking the Knight Bus to London. And it’s not as though the bus driver would let Will drive!” She shot Will a sympathetic smile. “No offense.”

Mordred snorted. “Not as though we’d want to hop in a vehicle with Will behind the wheel.”

Will dropped his jaw in outrage. “I am an excellent driver! I mean, I don’t actually _know_ that but muggles do it, so how hard can it be?”

“Erm --” Freya had raised a tentative hand. The group turned their attention to her. “I might have an idea as long as you aren’t too afraid of heights.”

Mordred had turned a rather greenish hue.)

The barn is near pitch dark inside ( _f_ _or the Wilddeoren_ , Freya whispers, Gwen tries not to shudder. The lesson on Wilddeoren back in fourth year was far more experience than Gwen needed with the creatures for a whole lifetime). They pick their way down the center aisle, Gwen carefully averting her eyes from the rusting creatures around them.

She’s sure there’s something in here that turns people to stone, though she can’t quite remember what it’s called.

At the second to last stall Freya clicks the door open and Gwen sees the glowing eyes and silvery feathers of nearly a dozen creatures.

“How are we going to tame them?” Mordred whispers.

Freya smiles, or it looks like the flash of white in the dark of the stall is from her teeth. “Same as always, one at a time.”

And then she turns to the first winged creature and gives a low bow.

\--

“Feel a bit useless just waitin’ here until everyone comes back,” Will grumbles after the others have left, kicking at the ground, watching a stone as it stumbles down the steep path away from the castle.

Morgana doesn’t disagree. Her skin is still tingling from the Vision in a way that suggests she is missing something, something they would need to be successful tonight. If the prophecy is unfurling then maybe --

All her thoughts halt as a bolt of electricity sends her to her knees with a painful crack.

The jagged stones on the ground scrape against her palms and her knees. She cries out in alarm and hears Will from a distance yell her name. A wave of Old Magic more powerful than anything she ever felt stings her veins and blinds her until all she sees is a stunning gold. Something is happening, something to do with Merlin, something that is waking the magic up.

A piece of a prophecy being fulfilled.

And then she is somewhere else entirely, the colors off, sensations fuzzy and subdued. The painful scrapes on her knees and hands forgotten.

She stands before a castle, or something like a castle, swords clashing around her in high-pitched metallic screeches. Arthur fights beside her, fierce in battle, in red and chainmail, using Excalibur like an extension of himself, every bit the hero he always makes himself in stories. Lance sweeps into the scene behind him, cutting off a man about to catch Arthur unawares the assailants hands out like claws. 

And then her own arm is moving, her own voice yelling, as she lunges toward her own attacker, a man in Victorian clothing who has the wispy appearance of a being not completely within the realm. Their swords lock together bringing her face uncomfortably close to his. The man is glowing just a bit, as if he might be made of moonlight. In her peripheral, she sees Will engaged in a similar dance with a woman in a ballgown and Leon behind him kicks a soldier armed with a bayonet.

She looks back at the man before her, ethereal in the light, and with a roar thrusts her sword right through his heart.

A sharp gasp and she is back in her own body, skin stinging with magic and the pain of her cuts on her palms. The blood pools in the shallow cracks that now adorn her hands. Percival's arms are on her shoulders and Will’s face twisted into a nervous grimace where he crouches right in front of her.

Two Visions so close together? If everything wasn’t so absolutely awful she would spare a moment to smile. Perhaps her magic is not nearly as broken as she feared.

Or perhaps whatever Merlin had unleashed is making her more powerful.

“Morgana?” Will asks. “Are you alright, what do you need?”

Morgana shakes her head. “I had a Vision.”

“Yeah,” Will says in a very petulant tone, “I gathered that much. You going to share what it was or make us guess?”

Morgana shoots him an annoyed look. “I Saw,” a certainty settled in her bones. Trust her Visions. “The Future.”

Percival, far better at comforting than Will, helps her back on her feet and taps his wand against her hands, neatly stitching the skin back together. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t you always See the future?”

Morgana shakes her head again, thoughts fitting into place. “Not recently.” Not in a long time. But _this time_ , she is sure that was what she Saw. Just as she was sure the scene at St. Mungo’s was playing out nearly simultaneously. This Vision is _them_ , or their group in the _very_ immediate future. 

It’s a warning.

She looks between the two boys around her. “Want to help me steal something?”

Will blinks at her a few times before giving her a crooked sort of grin. “I’d love nothing more.”

\--

Arthur paces the length of the barn a fourth time by the time his sister decides to grace the group with her presence. He already regrets his new decision to trust her more.

“Mor _gana_ ,” Arthur growls, “where have you been! We need to…” he trails off as he catches sight of the three missing members of their team stumbling under the weight of the objects in their possessions. “Why do you have a bunch of swords?”

Their group is rather nervously assembled around the barn, waiting for their _guide_ who had disappeared with Morgana after Arthur _specifically_ told them to wait. A handful of hippogriffs graze nearby not at all bothered by the clanking of metal.

Morgana grins and tosses Excalibur to Arthur which he catches by the hilt as if he’s done it 1000 times. “If we’re going into battle, I think we should be armed.”

Arthur has one too many questions.

“We have wands,” Arthur says. “We’re more likely to hurt ourselves than have them be of any use.” He’s looking at Gwaine as he says it, who has taken a sword from Percival and is turning it in his hands and making _whooshing_ noises as he slices it through the air. “And what makes you say there’s going to be a battle?”

“We’re going to need them,” she says, attaching a scabbard to her belt. “I Saw it.” The steely resolve of her voice makes Arthur’s stomach drop.

“Alright. You can explain on the way.” Arthur sheaths the sword and attaches it to his waist as well and turns to address the group. He blows out a large gust of air as he readies himself for a fight. “We can’t all go.”

Will crosses his arms and plants his feet wide, also readying for a fight. Gods, when he sees Merlin again they are going to have a long discussion about his choice in friends.

 _(If_ he sees Merlin again.)

Will tilts his head far to the side and his neck gives a loud crack. “Thought we already established you need help, Pendragon.”

Arthur glares, his anger flaring bright and thrilled to have a target. “That’s not what I meant you absolute --”

Morgana jumps in before he can really get going. “Arthur’s right. I don’t think it makes sense for all of us to go.”

Elyan shakes his head. “Why not, if you’re going to be facing Agravaine’s evil henchmen shouldn’t you have bigger numbers?”

“Yes,” Arthur agrees, grudgingly, “we should. Which is why someone needs to go to the Ministry and tell Gaius or McGonagall or Potter or whatever teacher you can find what’s going on. Not that I doubt our abilities or anything but I feel as though we stand a fair better chance if we have some highly trained wizards and former or current Aurors on our side.”

Gwaine sighs. “Feel like you’re trying to get rid of me but I can go. I get special access to certain areas as my father works at the Ministry and I’m sure I can sneak into the Wizengamot if need be.”

“And I’ll go with him,” Percival volunteers, giving Gwaine a small grin. “I reckon Gwaine needs as much supervision as Will.”

Will throws his arms up. “When did he get so rude?” He points a thumb in Percival’s direction. “He’s been hanging out too much with you lot. Percival used to be the nicest person at this school.”

Arthur ignores Will as it is _really_ not the time. “Alright. We also need someone at the castle, if any of the teacher’s come back before Gwaine and Percival can intercept them.”

Freya volunteers. “I can stay back.”

Gwen nods. “Me too. My offensive spells need some work so I’d be more hindrance than help. And we can keep an eye on Kilgharrah, see if he’s doing anything suspicious with Cenred and Valiant.”

Arthur nods and turns to the others.

Lance gives him a small smile. “You aren’t going to talk us out of it, Arthur.”

Leon nods. “If you’re going then we’re going too.”

“Yeah,” Elyan adds. “And on the way you can explain why _Gwaine_ got an invitation to the secret club but not Leon and I.” Leon shoots him an annoyed look and he holds up his hands in Leon’s direction. “I’m a little offended. And you certainly should be as you’ve got to be better at strategy than _Gwaine_.” He looks from Leon to Gwaine and adds, “no offense.”

Gwaine holds up his hands. “None taken.”

“Then armor up,” he tells the group. “And everyone grab a mirror. If anything happens we can use these to keep in contact.”

Gwen picks one up and studies it. “It needs a codeword for the spell to work. That’s how we connect them all.”

Everyone turns to Arthur who sighs in something like defeat. He looks at Morgana. “Would you like to do the honors?”

She gives a rather manic grin as she grabs a mirror and says, “ _Excalibur_.”

\--

Merlin’s heart is in his throat as he stares at Agravaine’s greasy smile. Agravaine wants to...ensure destiny?

He and Arthur and Morgana were wrong. They were so incredibly wrong about _everything_.

Agravaine nods at his larger henchman. “Keep your wand on him. If he tries anything, Stun him without hesitation, but nothing more. We need him alive.”

A sharp wand jabs into his back and he stumbles forward a few steps, toward the manor he’s only ever seen from the inside.

Merlin is trying to keep calm. He won’t ask what Agravaine is after, that’s giving him all the power. More than that, Merlin knows the prophecy. He knows he and Arthur are in it and only _he_ is here. So there might still be hope. And Agravaine is looking mighty pleased with himself which means he’ll likely tell Merlin everything in time, Merlin just has to wait. That’s what Arthur would do, that’s what Arthur would say. And in the meantime he needs to figure out a way to get out of this in spite of the wand pressed into his back. 

In almost no time, they are standing just outside the front door of the manor.

Agravaine stops before it and turns to Merlin with a horrible smile. “Do you know where you are, Emrys?”

He raises an eyebrow and adopts a bravado he doesn't feel. “About to descend into the _Den of Dragons_?”

Agravaine hums. “So you _do_ know the prophecy.”

Merlin is grasping at straws, desperate to throw Agravaine off his game. “You don’t have the sword.”

Agravaine’s smile seems to crack. “What did you just say?”

Merlin swallows, pushes what is clearly a sore point for Agravaine. “You don’t have Excalibur.”

A snarl of a smile. “We won’t need it.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows. “The sword you spent the greater part of a year searching for? The sword you magically manipulated a will to find, tore the Ministry apart by searching all the most secret vaults, even hired some underage wizards to do a bit of digging. Decided to toss it?”

And then the world is nothing but _agony_. Merlin’s entire body twists and contorts, his vision blurs, and he hears a painful high-pitched scream. Only when he starts clawing at his throat does he realize he’s the one making that sound.

“Aredian!”

All at once the pain stops and Merlin comes back to himself curled on his side upon the stone bricks, his magic inside him giving a weak pulse. He stifles a whimper.

Agravaine is glaring at his henchman. “It will not do to have him _weak_.”

Aredian spits at the ground next to Merlin and Merlin wants to make him _pay_. “Thought he could stand to learn a lesson about respecting his elders.”

Merlin glares up at him, so incredibly _furious_. “Bit of a waste of time as I’ll never respect either of you, _elder_ as you may be.” He shakes his head and snarls, “and I’ll never help you. You’ll have to _kill_ me first.”

“Good news, Emrys,” a voice says behind him, shifting from an old raspy voice to a much higher pitch. A voice he heard months ago in a dark forest. A voice he heard ominously through the Floo Network. The last dregs of hope drain from him as he turns to see a wizard step from the shadows, removing the wand against their throat, and say in their normal voice, “that can be arranged.” 

A tight-lipped smile stretches menacingly across the face.

And Merlin realizes he really has no hope at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next Chapter will be up soon!
> 
> Next Chapter Features: Several dramatic reveals and a prophecy coming to fruition
> 
> Comments and kudos are truly amazing :D


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to [rainbow_writer](/users/rainbow_writer) for looking over this chapter and providing some much needed advice and encouragement.

Kilgharrah rubs his brow bone as he stares at the two boys seated across from him in the Headmistress’ office. He was hoping she would have returned by now but evidently the proceedings at the Ministry are taking longer than anticipated. 

It’s been a long week -- well, a long few weeks -- or, if he wants to be meticulously accurate, it’s been a long seventeen years. Though if the Centaurs are to be believed, the waiting would be over soon.

A light at the end of a never ending tunnel.

The larger boy rocks back and forth in his seat. Surly and angry and not at all as respectful as he should be. “We really don’t know how to reach him,” he grumbles, adding, “professor,” as an afterthought.

Kilgharrah purses his lips together. It isn’t that he doesn’t believe these two fools. He knows they are victims of ignorance and greed rather than truly malicious, but he does need more from them than this severe lack of information.

He narrows his eyes. “Then what were you doing using my Floo Network?” He doesn’t add, _again_ , though he very well could as he has been listening in on their conversations for the greater part of the past school year.

The skinnier one leans forward. “We really don’t want to be expelled. Not when we’ve just got the one term left. Well -- it’s just -- our friend, Cedric? He’s been working for Agravaine and -- we haven’t heard from him in a few weeks. And last time we talked to him there was this terrifying voice. And we were supposed to --”

The larger one jabs an elbow into his ribs and hisses, “ _shut up_.”

Kilgharrah is too old for this. He should have taken Minerva up on the retirement opportunity years ago. But he knew he couldn’t. Not when the time of the prophecy was drawing near. Not if he wanted things to unfold in a certain direction.

He clears his throat. “I do not have the power to expel you. If you would please return to your tale. You were looking for Excalibur?” The boys across from him look stunned, jaws agape and eyes wide. His lips twitch in amusement. It is always lovely to take people by surprise.

Cenred leans forward again. “Are you a Seer?”

If only, it would make this go much faster. “No, I am a Transfiguration professor though both of you have dropped those lessons. But you were looking for Excalibur and did not find Excalibur so why were you trying to contact Mr. Cole?” 

He can’t confirm that Merlin freed the sword from the painting but he’s hopeful. He took measures to assure Morgana Pendragon was in possession of the spell months ago. He made certain Merlin knew the great sword of legend was left in Camelot and learned he possessed the skill of Dragontongue. Thank goodness Finna owed him that favor and Hagrid was always eager to invite dragons onto school grounds, not many other professors would have been so easy to convince. Young though he was, Merlin was certainly bright enough to piece together that puzzle. Particularly with the young Pendragons by his side.

The Vow was a nuisance, making it far more difficult to get young Emrys the information he needed especially since his _competition_ did not have such hindrances.

Valiant crosses his arms. “It’s like Cenred said. We’ve been worried. And Cedric mentioned that something big was happening today and he’d be in touch if he needed us but we haven’t heard anything --”

Kilgharrah holds up one finger to silence him, heart thudding just a pace too fast deep in his chest. “Something is happening today?”

Valiant gives a terse nod. “We don’t know what. He just said they might need help getting into Hogwarts.”

“To get the sword,” Cenred finishes.

But the sword isn’t worth breeching Hogwarts which means…

“It’s time.”

The boys look at each other with furrowed brows. “For what?” Valiant asks.

Cenred looks a little wary. “Expulsion?”

Kilgharrah stands. “For Destiny. Wait here for the Headmistress, I’ll seal you in.”

“You can’t --” but Kilgharrah is already off, heading up to the top of the Astronomy Tower.

It might very well be time to take flight.

\--

Merlin idly wonders if he hit his head and is in the middle of a fever dream.

“Professor Nimueh?” Merlin says in more shock than anything else.

Several gaping holes in the events of the past year are thrown in a rather revealing light. Agravaine wasn’t the mastermind. Agravaine took orders from a mysterious figure in the forest, a person who could use Old Magic, a person who lived close enough to all of them to keep an eye on them. And that person was...Morgana’s favorite teacher?

But _why_?

She grins wide as she descends the few steps before the door. “Hello Emrys. I’ve always told you your Destiny awaits you. And here it is at long last.”

_What?_

Merlin shakes his head, trying to puzzle out what it is these two are after. Trying to figure out how this woman fits into all of this. “This whole time -- with Morgana?”

Morgana told Nimueh of her Visions for nearly the entire year. That’s why Agravaine’s men arrived at the manor so quickly when he and Arthur ventured there to retrieve the Charm. That’s why she knew they would need to give Uther Pendragon something else to keep him sick, something like an enchanted necklace. The only reason she didn’t know _they knew_ about the necklace was because Morgana had sworn them all to forbid discussing it, in case someone was listening to all the conversations at Hogwarts.

And Morgana had sort of been right.

 _Don’t trust the Seer_ , Madame Disir had warned him. Only, he didn’t know who the Seer was at the time. Is she also the dragon?

She glides past him, moving to stand where the edge of the lawn meets the brick of the walkway. “Morgana could have been great but it seems Destiny has other plans. Just as it always does.” She sighs. “A pity.”

Merlin shakes his head, as if he might dislodge some sort of reason. “Why would you teach her Old Magic if you want to stop it’s release?”

Agravaine chuckles and Merlin shoots him what he hopes is a terrifying glower. Agravaine is really getting on his nerves. “You still don’t understand! How the Greatest Warlock of our Time has fallen. Didn’t you say he was smarter last time?”

 _Oh_ , so they are both firmly rooted in this reincarnation camp and think Merlin is some all-powerful ancient sorcerer born again. And they must believe themselves to be villains from the stories of Camelot. 

Brilliant.

“He’ll get there, Agravaine. He still doesn’t have the full picture.” Nimueh turns to him with a terrible smile, condescending and pitying all at once. “There’s more than one way to skin a kneazle, Emrys.”

“Gross,” Merlin says, watching as Nimueh steps her bare feet onto the grass, loose skirts flowing behind her.

“Did you know this house has been in the Pendragon family for generations. If rumors are to be believed, it might even be a relic of the lost Kingdom of Camelot.” She shoots him a wink as she runs a hand through the tall grass of the bushes beside her. “The magic here, _the Old Magic_ , is stronger than anywhere else in the world, woven deep into its very foundation. For it is here that the magic died.” She spares him another glance with her eyebrows raised, a sort of mockery of the “expectant teacher” expression. “You must feel it?” 

And Merlin can. It’s golden, buried deep in the ground and in the stone and even in the plants growing through the cracks in the bricks on the path, so weak and feeble humming a gentle melody that his magic recognizes and its zipping under his skin, ready to join the song. It takes all his concentration to keep it contained.

Nimueh sighs. “Here is the place hundreds of Pendragons were born and lived,” she turns back to Merlin, “and _died_.” She quirks an eyebrow. “Are you getting it now, Emrys?”

Yeah, he’s getting that these people are insane. Nothing going on was making any sense and Merlin’s back is really starting to hurt from where he is crouched over on the ground and his grip on his magic is looser than it's ever been. Maybe it's time to do something with it. 

He takes a deep breath, just as he did in his lessons with Morgana, and summons a burst of magic, channeling the sharp sting toward Nimueh. But before he can pour any out into the world Nimueh thrusts out a hand and Merlin feels a hand close around his throat, cutting off his words and air. The magic is trapped inside him and he claws at his throat once more.

Nimueh tsks as she releases her hold. “None of that right now, we’ll need it in a minute. Patience, Emrys.”

Merlin takes a few gasping breaths as Nimueh stands on the lawn. The Seer throws her head back and starts chanting a low, melodic, haunting sort of rhyme. A look to Agravaine shows his face is nothing but unbridled excitement though Aredian appears braced for the worst and Agravaine’s assistant looks like he might faint.

And then with ever increasing horror, Merlin turns to watch as the earth all over the estate begins to sift and _move_. 

Just before Nimueh an arm bursts out of the ground.

\--

Hippogriffs are _geniuses_. For the first time, Will thinks that maybe he should have taken Care of Magical Creatures, it certainly had to be better than Herbology.

The wind is sharp and freezing as it bites against Will’s skin, his ankles wet from the condensation they are riding through. He knows his face must be red and wishes he’d grabbed himself a helmet from that closet they nicked all the swords. He thought riding a hippogriff would be like riding a broom or maybe even like riding a horse as he’s done that a fair few times. 

He was mistaken. It’s like nothing he’s ever experienced, steaming through the sky, the wind so loud in his ears he can’t even hear anything else. He’s sort of grateful for the noise as he’s sure if it was quieter Pendragon would have asked if they are going the right direction at least one hundred times. All he can see are the clouds beneath them and the golden glow of sparks guiding them toward Merlin.

The formation is a tight vee shape, Will’s hippogriff right at the front of the charge. Then Arthur and Morgana, Lance and Leon, and Elyan and Mordred taking up the final positions. 

He’s worried because Merlin always somehow manages to get himself into messes like this. He isn’t surprised that Merlin is this all powerful sorcerer, he’s always been too smart and powerful for his own good. He is annoyed that Merlin didn’t even _mention_ it to him and Mordred but he figures he can berate him about it when they find him in one piece.

It’s difficult to gauge how long they’ve been traveling, but after a while he hears Pendragon say something to his sister, though he can’t make out the words. A few minutes, or hours, or years later Morgana says something back, something that sounds like “I think you’re right. We’re going home.”

The gold sparks finally get brighter, near blinding which means they are getting close. With a gentle kick to his hippogriff’s side, Will starts the descent at the end of a lane leading to a huge mansion just over the crest of a hill. He turns around and yells, “The trail goes just over the hill toward that house.” A house he’s assuming belongs to the two siblings behind him.

He’s not sure everyone can hear him but the hippogriffs seem to know all the same. Gliding down toward the earth with sure, confident strokes of their wings.

The Magical Creatures stop abruptly halfway down the street, refusing to proceed no matter how much gentle urging they employ.

Will clicks his tongue as he dismounts and turns to the group with a grimace. “Going to go out on a limb and say that’s _not_ a good sign.”

Lance slides off his with a gentle pat to its flank. “They’re scared of death, right?”

Will shudders. “So definitely not a good sign then.” No one comments but Elyan does spare a moment to message the others that they are at Avalon Manor and to send help as soon as they can.

They climb to the top of the hill and stare through the iron gate at the lawn before them. Leon lets out a long whistle.

It’s a scene straight out of a nightmare. Will stares out at a sea of what must be hundreds of people, standing side by side, spreading across the grass, forming a barricade between them and the house. Or, not people. Maybe calling them once-people would be more accurate.

“Shades,” Morgana says. She shoots her brother a raised brow. “Told you we’d need the enchanted swords.”

The Shades don’t move, even as the wind picks up and the temperature keeps dropping from all the death in the air. If he didn’t know any better he might think they are statues, from every time period since the house was built, transparent as ghosts though significantly more colorful. They are far more eerie than their book described them. Will wishes Potter had sprung and had them actually _fight_ them for their lesson. He’d feel marginally more prepared.

Lance hums and nudges the gate with his foot. “Their orders must be to only attack if we step foot on the property. Why else would they be so still?”

Leon shakes his head. “Whoever cast this...gods they must be powerful. Raising this many dead? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Mordred scoffs. “Yeah, ‘cause no one in their right mind would want to. Not to mention it would completely drain you.”

Morgana turns to her brother with a grin. “It’s a good thing you and I used to practice sword fighting with the antique swords in the front hall.”

Arthur gives her a scathing look. “I _really_ don’t think it’s going to be anything like that.”

She grins, not entirely appropriate given the nature of the situation, as she unsheaths her sword. “Only one way to find out.”

\--

Gwen and Freya sprint up the steps of the Astronomy Tower painting for air.

“Gods --” Freya pants just in front of Gwen. “Why the hell -- is he climbing -- all the way up here?” She pauses as they hit the landing and shakes her head at Gwen. “And why can’t you Apparate on Hogwarts’ grounds? Stupid bloody safety wards.”

Gwen agrees but she thinks there will be plenty of time to complain things about later. (She’s also going to tell Merlin that Freya has been spending way too much time with Will if her language is anything to go by.)

When Gwen had signed up to “follow Kilgharrah” she had naively assumed they would be sitting in the hall outside the Headmistress’ office using Extendable Ears to listen in and gain intel where Kilgharrah confessed to a myriad of crimes and then all the other teachers would come back with Merlin in tow and save the day. 

She did not think she would be running up hundreds of stairs after an old man who _really_ shouldn’t be able to move that fast. Gods, they should have grabbed brooms. “Come on, just one more set.”

They pound the last few stairs and throw open the doors to the tower to find it...empty? The telescopes are still in their covers and not even a candle is lit.

Freya waves her wand around in shock. “But -- there isn’t a Floo or anything! And you can’t Apparate or _we_ would have done that. What the fu --”

There’s a crack as a gust of wind slams the door to the balcony open. They both run out to a balcony just as empty as the tower itself.

Gwen angrily huffs as she pushes her loose curls out of her face, the wind picking up around them. “This doesn’t make sense! Where could he have gone? It’s like he…” she trails off as a loud gust of wind whistles from the side of the building. With a tentative approach, she peers over the edge with Freya right by her side only to be met with the face of a huge beast flying straight up toward them, eyes glowing and pointed teeth bared. They both shriek and duck, bracing themselves against the stone wall as the creature streams by heading straight up into the sky, enormous wings pushing it higher, each beat of its wings sending a strong gust of wind toward them. 

The two girls look at each other with wide eyes and mouths open. Gwen swallows and finishes her earlier thought. “It’s like he jumped.”

\--

Merlin follows Agravaine and Nimueh into the house with a wand digging into his back, passing the hearth that he stepped through so many months ago. He remembers how empty and opulent the home felt then.

Now it feels empty and _decrepit_.

The marble is blackened, soot coated, and dark. By the time they are standing in front of the heavy door near the end of the hall, Merlin doesn’t have any more ideas than he had outside.

The iron door Arthur had assured him wasn’t a dungeon is open. And with whatever shock he is capable of feeling Merlin notices the Minister of Magic propped next to it sitting a pool of liquid.

At the look on his face Nimueh shrugs. “Blood magic.” 

Uther Pendragon gives a faint moan and Merlin watches as his eyes flicker open.

Nimueh squats down and smiles right into his waxen face. “I told you I’d get him, Uther. Your son isn’t nearly as important as you seem to think he is. I don’t need him to win.”

Uther turns his gaze to Agravaine but remains silent, likely too weak from whatever spell they cast on him. Agravaine only grins back.

Merlin feels like he should say something, _do something_ to indicate that Arthur is safe (hopefully) or that he’ll get the Minister out of this but Aredian pushes him toward the door before Merlin can come up with anything profound. Merlin is met with a dark stairwell and the damp smell of the earth. Before he can take a step, the pressure of the wand alleviates slightly as Nimueh digs her nails into Aredian’s shoulder. Not enough for Merlin to think he can get away with anything, just enough for the pain to ease marginally. “You aren’t coming. Keep watch.” She points at Cedric. “You and the scrawny one.”

“For what?” Aredian scoffs. “A handful of children? Every wizard is at the Wizengamot just as you planned.”

Nimueh smiles a sweet smile that chills Merlin to the bone. “Seeing as you couldn’t handle _two_ children last time, you might not want to sound so blase.” She leans in close. “And if you fail me, I will curse you to live in a tortuous hell for thousands of years until even death will not be a relief and you will crave to cease existing entirely.”

Aredian narrows his eyes and steps away. Nimueh moves her claw into Merlin’s shoulder, digging in with her nails, until a sharp shooting pain goes up his shoulder in the base of his skull.

“Move,” she orders.

Merlin leads the way, too scared to try anything, too confused to know _what_ to try. 

He heads down the stairs followed by a necromancer and a pseudo-king of the Wizarding World. Magic Itself and a Daughter of Pluto and a Once and Future King. Foretold by a prophecy, different than Merlin thought it would be, though if Merlin is being honest, he hadn’t really thought it would happen at all.

He doesn’t know what waits for them at the bottom of the stairs. Doesn’t know how to stop them. Doesn’t know how to ensure that the horrible parts of the prophecy (the losing your magic, the _death_ ) get attributed to his companions. He is more than willing to “betray” them to make it happen.

Gods he should have listened more all those times Morgana talked about the Theory of Prophecies and about how out of their control fate is. And more than that, he should have trained to use his Old Magic _every single day_ instead of treating the lessons like a chore or a fun game and spending so much time conjuring bloody butterflies. He was so naive.

Merlin’s magic is a storm within him, bubbling to a boil just under his skin. He wonders if Nimueh can feel it where her nails are dug so deep into his shoulder that they’ve cut through his jacket. Could he take down the whole house in one fell swoop with one crack of his magic? Get rid of these two and Aredian for the price of himself?

It’s a risk that he’s not sure he’ll be able to pull off. And he thinks if he fails...he might be in for a worse fate.

The stairs empty out into a cellar, lined with barrels and racks of wine bottles but Nimeuh guides him further, to a plain wooden door at the end of the room. The door is giving off the same gentle hum that Merlin feels when he reaches for the Old Magic but stronger.

“Open it.”

Merlin swallows. Now’s the time to act. He turns and crosses his arms, raises an imperious eyebrow and looks at Nimueh in disdain (a Pendragon trademark Merlin is appropriating). “Or what?”

Agravaine leans toward him menacingly. “Or we kill you.”

Merlin tilts his head to the side. “No, I don’t think you will.” He smiles as he watches the two evil beings before him look alarmed. It’s a nice change of pace. “You need me. Magic Itself.”

Nimueh shrugs. “Or I can kill you and resurrect you and get the job done just the same. Your life is a courtesy you should be thanking us for, not abusing.”

“No, you’re lying.” Nimueh has a great poker face but Agravaine looks like his world is crumbling around him. Evidently there have been one too many close calls for the former Minister and he hasn’t the patience for Merlin’s insolence. _Good_. “If that were true, I’d already be dead. Shades don’t keep their magic when they die. You should really communicate more with your colleagues and then you wouldn’t have chosen a Dark Creature we spent the greater part of the past year studying.” Merlin shrugs. “If you want my help, you’re going to have to answer some questions.”

Merlin’s not going to help them, but he needs to stall until...until he comes up with a brilliant idea or some sort of miracle happens. Whichever happens first. He’s really hoping for a miracle.

Nimueh narrows her eyes. “What do you want to know?”

“Why?” If Merlin is going to bury them all under this house, he’d at least like some answers before he has to do that. He’s slightly worried if he dies not knowing what’s happening he will be stuck here as a ghost, forever searching for the truth. “Why are you doing this?”

Nimueh snarls. “Because that magic should be _mine_.”

Agravaine’s eyes flicker over to her. “Ours,” he says.

She schools her expression once more and gives him a reassuring look. “Right, yes, ours.” Agravaine nods like he accepts this and Merlin has to stop himself from snorting. If Nimueh plans on giving Agravaine so much as a sickle, Merlin will eat a toad.

Merlin raises his eyebrows. “Bit bold of you to assume it belongs to you.”

“Of course it belongs to me,” Nimueh snarls, taking a menacing step forward. “It’s _my_ prophecy!”

\--

The sword slices clean through the figure before Arthur, vanishing it in a huge gust of vapor. Despite the cool temperatures he’s dripping in sweat and he hastily scrubs it away from his eyes before he adjusts his grip and readies himself to go after the next creature.

“See,” Morgana says with a manic sort of grin in her voice somewhere on Arthur’s right. “Just like our sword fights!”

He looks out at the lawn before him at the still hundreds of Shades, shrieking louder than banshees and attacking them with everything from the weapons they were buried with to their bare hands. The shield spells are doing a decent job of only letting a few near them at a time but there are still _so many_. The sword is heavy in his hand, the muscles in his arms aching. But it’s a familiar sort of ache, like his muscles remember this though he most certainly does not.

“Arthur!”

He turns at Lance’s warning and with an upward arc of Excalibur decapitates the ancient looking wizard that snuck up behind him, dispelling it in another surge of mist. The fog from the fallen Shades is making it very hard to see.

Lance quickly stabs his own sword through a Shade before turning to Arthur and shaking his head. “We’re going to have to split up. We need to draw enough of them away to free up some space for you and Morgana to get into the manor.” It’s a thought Arthur has had as well but it didn’t mean he liked it.

They are interrupted by a group of four more apparitions. Working in tandem, they stand back to back as they make quick work of the creatures, Arthur blocking an axe and then slicing through the chest of two at once while Lance handles the other two.

As he catches his breath he says, “I think you’re right.” Athur looks around and spots Leon working with Will to dispatch the shades as Mordred and Elyan let them through their shields two at a time. “Hey Leon? Think you can keep these things busy for a few minutes?”

Before Leon can respond, Will grins wide. “They like fire right?”

“ _No_ ,” Elyan says at the same time Mordred yells, “they hate fire!” But Will already has his wand pointed toward the Shades and yells, “ _incendio_!” erupting a wall of flame between the two groups of students. There’s a high piercing shriek as the dark creatures temporarily flee toward the far reaches of the lawn.

Morgana blows out a breath and shrugs. “‘Spose that’s one way to get it done.”

Arthur shakes his head. “Come on. Lance you too. If any of them get too close --”

“Burn them?” Lance finishes, wand in his off hand.

The three of them sprint across the lawn, through the fog and mist, the rancid rotting smell of death clinging to the air, hacking at stray Shades while Lance hurls fireballs, and stumble through the front door where a familiar man is waiting for them.

“We meet again, Arthur Pendragon.”

Morgana shoots him a look. “You know him?”

Arthur’s hand tightens on his wand. “He took Merlin.” 

Arthur takes a step forward in a dueling stance and the man smirks and does the same. Victory will feel so sweet and justified against this man, to beat him in a duel, and make him _pay_ for what he did to Merlin. His fist clenches his wand tighter, ready for the fight.

Lance scoffs. “Well, if he took Merlin,” Lance says, pointing his wand at the man. “ _Incarcerous!_ ” Ropes erupt from the ground and the man swears colorfully as he’s tied down, bindings tight around him as he thrashes around on the ground and tries to free himself.

“ _Expelliarmus_!” Morgana yells gleefully and his wand soars through the air and into her hand. With an evil sort of grin she snaps it in two.

The man sputters indignant. “That’s cheating! The Auror’s Code --”

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Pretty sure you forfeited the code when you started working for Agravaine and kidnapping teenagers.” He looks at Lance. “Nice job.” Even if he would have liked to beat the shit out of him himself.

Lance grins. “Thanks, got a Junior Auror’s spellbook for Christmas and I was saving that one to use on Gwaine. Still would so let’s not tell him about it.”

Morgana clears her throat. “Boys, can we focus, please? World to save? Arthur’s boyfriend in danger? Ring any bells?”

Arthur rolls his eyes but runs into the hall after her fully ready to rescue said boyfriend. But the sight of his father crumpled next door nearly knocks him off his feet.

\--

Merlin blinks at the angry woman in front of him. Anger is good, it keeps people talking. “Yeah, and how do you figure it belongs to you?”

“Because, Emrys, it was I who spoke the prophecy 1500 hundred years ago. It was I who sought to contain the magic, to _hoard it_ as all the legends are so fond of saying, and,” she adds with another uncomfortably close step into his personal space, “it was _you_ who stopped me. You who imprisoned it in the ground here and in this home, this _tomb_ of magic. Now it is you who will free it once more.”

Merlin makes his eyes comically wide. “Wow, you must be old as hell and I must have been on quite the bender not to remember all of that.”

Nimueh hits him with a withering glare. “How I _wish_ Morgana had grown into her skills so I wouldn’t have to deal with _you_. For one so gifted with Old Magic, your Sight is grossly underdeveloped. If you were more talented, you would See your past lives just as I can.” 

Merlin swallows and shakes his head. “You’re wrong. I’m just...me and you’re…” he can’t land on a word that won’t earn him a slap to the face. “And even if I was... _Merlin_...you can’t hold me responsible for something I didn’t even do!”

Nimueh examines her nails like Merlin is particularly boring. “I thought the same thing, when my Visions first started. I imagine our dear Morgana went through a similar crisis.” At the mention of Morgana Merlin narrows his eyes. If Nimueh thinks Morgana is anything like her, she is sorely mistaken. “I saw myself. Fighting you, or the past version of you, trying to kill King Uther Pendragon and I was shocked. I couldn’t be this old evil sorceress, that wasn’t who I was. I was a _good person_. But I was wrong, history repeats itself. And try as we might we cannot change it.”

Merlin swallows. “You’re wrong. I mean -- maybe we all are reincarnated and maybe you were that person but you don’t have to be them again. You can be whoever you want. No one is making you do anything.”

For the briefest of moments Nimueh looks just a bit sad. “You are young and naive. You do not understand the cruelties of the world. Enough talking, open the door.”

Merlin racks his brain to do anything but that. “You haven’t even answered any of my questions! What do you want with the magic?”

“The prophecy and the magic are what I am owed. I was the one who brought it to Uther Pendragon’s attention. And I was the one he betrayed! ”

Merlin doesn’t answer, just stares.

Nimueh bares her teeth, sadness gone and in its place is a cruel anger. “That’s right, Emrys. I tried to be different, to be _good_ , to give this story a different ending than one told by Time. I Saw everything: starting with the birth of the children in the prophecy and ending with you and Morgana and her brother all in this basement. How cruel, I thought, the cards Destiny dealt them, _these children_. I was going to prove I wasn’t the same Nimueh the legends spoke of, I was going to prove I was different, better. So I researched and gathered information and pushed my Sight farther than anyone before me and learned everything I could about Old Magic.”

“So what happened?” Despite his best efforts, Merlin is getting a little caught up in the story.

Nimueh gives another insincere smile. “You cannot change what is written in the stars.”

“And what do the stars say?” Merlin whispers though he knows the answer.

_“When the Circle of Time makes its rotation the Once and Future King, the daughter of Pluto, and Magic Itself will descend into the den of dragons and attempt to sever the forgotten magic from its shackles…But the price of freedom will be paid thrice...in the loss of magic...in the loss of trust...and in loss of life…Only if the binding is properly completed will the magic be free…and an age of peace and prosperity may reign for all magic and non-magic alike.”_

It sounds worse when she says it. More sinister and awful. The magic in Merlin is electric, crackling and stinging under his skin, recognizing ancient words spoken years ago. Nimueh smiles like she can feel it too.

Nimueh narrows her eyes. “I warned him, you know? Uther Pendragon. I worked in the Department of Oracles just after leaving Hogwarts and he was in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I told him that Destiny was coming, that magic would need to be freed and one of the first signs would be the death of the wife he held _so dear_. I Saw it, over and over, the catalyst to start these events. It starts the same way it did all those years ago: a mother’s sacrifice for the birth of the Once and Future King. A life for a life.”

Merlin’s heart aches at her words. Poor Arthur, no wonder he despises prophecies so much. Nimueh shakes her head, eyes blazing in anger. “I told him that we could try fulfilling the prophecy differently. You see, the prophecy bears the name _Emrys_ so all we needed was someone with that surname and wouldn’t you know it? There was a Dragon Keeper up north with that very name and as luck would have it, he could even use a bit of Old Magic, the rare gift of Dragontongue! I said we could work _together_ to solve the prophecy to change the future. Balinor Emrys could harness Old Magic and Uther Pendragon is named after a King and well, you’ve seen my necromancy skills.”

“But it didn’t work,” Merlin says, though it is apparent that it did not as there is still a swirling storm of magic stinging Merlin from head to toe.

She gives a loud empty chuckle like she hopes the man bleeding out upstairs might hear her. “Well, it might have if Uther Pendragon hadn’t gone behind my back. I suggested we _free_ the magic but Uther Pendragon had other ideas. Because that much power was too tempting to do anything but try to get it for himself. He thought if he had the magic then maybe the prophecy wouldn’t happen at all. Maybe his wife wouldn’t be in any danger. Maybe he could _cheat_ Destiny.” 

Nimueh works her jaw, body vibrating with barely suppressed rage. “Following the trail I laid down, he found your father and found a Transfiguration specialist daring enough to raise the dead and he even found someone talented enough to brew an ancient potion with a recipe I was stupid enough to show him. And all it took was a little lie from a future Minister telling the party he was doing it to ‘save’ their children.”

The picture Kilgharrah had, it must have been taken after Uther had assembled the team. It was why his father looked so angry and Gaius and Kilgharrah were so uncomfortable. But the elder Pendragon was so excited. All of Uther’s dreams were about to come true. He would be more powerful than he had ever imagined and he’d get to save his wife and he’d do it all with information freely offered by Nimueh.

“Then when it failed, when they went through that door,” she points to it for emphasis, as if Merlin had somehow forgotten he would need to open it with Old Magic, “and the magic remained as locked as ever, he was ashamed. He called me a ‘mad woman,’ tried to discredit me until the whole of the wizarding world thought I was just another attention seeking fortune teller. He did his best to pretend he didn’t believe in any of it though his actions speak otherwise.”

She laughs, loud and unamused. “Imagine my surprise when he had the _audacity_ to appear on my doorstep begging me to save his dying wife. After I _warned_ him that her death would be the first sign of the Once and Future King’s return. As if somehow I personally weave the threads of fate. And then when I insisted I could not he blamed _me_ for the death of his wife and swore I would never work in the Ministry for the rest of my life. I was fired and essentially banished.” Another laugh, “just as he did in the days of Camelot. The characters may change in the story of Destiny but it is astonishing how similar the plots play out.”

Nimueh rolls her eyes to the ceiling as if her glare alone might harm the man. “He’s spent his whole career making those with Sight, Magical Beings other than wizards, anyone who _might_ be able to access Old Magic as _lesser_. Made his closest confidants and those most familiar with the prophecy swear a devastating vow of silence. All to make sure I don’t tell the world the sort of man he really is and no one ever grows powerful enough to try and get the magic for themselves. He put more protective barriers on this place than even Hogwarts has. Because now he knows the magic might very well come at the price of his son.” 

“And what -- he just left you alone, then?” Merlin asks. “After all that?”

Nimueh scoffs. “No, he made me promise that I would never speak of it to his children. I had to swear an Unbreakable Vow in order for him to leave me be. But I made no such promise about sharing the truth with _you_. He never thought me a real opponent because I’m just a Seer, so what harm could I possibly do? He thought he won because he turned me away. His arrogance will be the death of him each and every time because he refuses to learn from his mistakes.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows. “And he just trusted that you wouldn’t do anything with the prophecy?” Uther Pendragon was many things but willfully stupid didn’t seem to be one of them.

“Oh, I do not think it a coincidence that the year after I started teaching at Hogwarts so did Kilgharrah and Gaius but it isn’t as though they had any proof of what I’ve been trying to achieve. On paper, I’ve been something of a saint these past sixteen years, always working in the background, always lurking in the shadows. But I’ve been _waiting_.”

Another step and she’s right in front of Merlin. “Do you know what I See most clearly? Why Uther and his band of misfits failed, _Emrys_? Do you know what piece of the puzzle was missing?” Merlin swallows and Nimueh smiles. “A _sword_ in a stone, a ritual binding the magic to the earth. Unbreakable and eternal.”

Merlin swallows. “You don’t have the sword,” he whispers.

She smiles, a horrid pleased smile that sends chills to his very core. “As I mentioned before, Emrys, there is more than one way to fulfill a prophecy. Uther Pendragon may have failed the first time but I have learned from his mistakes.” The smile grows wider, more horrible. “Do you know what will happen without this binding? When we free the magic from the prison in which it _died_? In the place _you_ stole it from the earth and locked it away?” Merlin says nothing, dreading the direction of the conversation, the magic between him swirling faster, in fear or anticipation Merlin isn’t sure. “It will need a vessel, Emrys. And that vessel will be _me_.”

Agravaine makes a sort of affronted noise. “That isn’t what we agreed on!”

Nimueh tosses him a disdainful glance. “Worry not, Agravaine. If you do not irritate me too much I will be sure to share. I’ve told you before, you are replaceable.”

Merlin needs...to think, to stall, to keep her talking.

“If you’re keeping it for yourself, how is that bringing it back? How are you any different than Uther?”

Her face hardens like stone. “I tried once and it cost me _everything_. If I am destined to be a monster than a monster I shall be. I have spent my whole life planning to achieve the prophecy by other means, waiting for my time to claim what is mine.”

“You’re just as bad as he is,” Merlin says, with a confidence he does not feel. “Selfishly taking it, hoarding it.”

“Enough! No more questions. Open the door or I’ll risk your death!”

There’s a scuffling noise behind them and Cedric stumbles into the cellar, eyes wide and terrified.

“The young Pendragons, they’re both here.”

Agravaine turns his greasy smile on Merlin.

“Then if you do not assist us, we will _kill_ my dear nephew.” Merlin blanches. “So how about you open the door.”

Merlin puts a shaky hand against the wood. His magic surges at the contact and rushes into it at once, the way it used to when he was young and would sneak back into the kitchen for sweets after his mother had gone to sleep. Arthur is the one thing he will never be willing to risk and so he descends further into the prison of magic, the Den of Dragons.

\--

“Father?” Arthur asks, kneeling by his side checking for a pulse, doing his best to ignore the much too large pool of blood he’s sitting in.

Lance crouches next to him while Morgana ducks her head into the stairwell.

His father’s eyes flutter open just a hair. “Arthur?” His voice is so small it makes Arthur’s throat tight. “You shouldn’t be here,” he whispers, voice rough as stone.

“Good gods,” Morgana mutters, “man is bleeding to death and he’s going to give a last lecture.”

Arthur shoots her a warning look but she’s also looking at their father with something like fear in her eyes. Uther draws his attention with a shuddering breath. “The prophecy...I tried...to stop it. To save you.”

“I’m alright, father. I’m right here but we have to go save --”

His father grips his arm in a tight grip. “You cannot go. It will change everything forever.”

Arthur looks up at Morgana with wide eyes. “He’s delusional,” Morgana says it gently, like she knows Arthur is going to fight her about staying with Uther. “From blood loss of whatever he’s suffered this past year but we have to leave him, Arthur.” Her head snaps to the stairwell. “There’s voices.” A soft look. “We need to go.”

Lance pats his shoulder. “I’ll stay with him and try to stop the bleeding, keep any Shades away. You go get Merlin.”

With a last look at his father, Arthur steels himself and nods. He and Morgana take off down the stairs into the cellar, where Agravaine’s assistant stands before an open wooden door. 

Fantastic, another obstacle.

“You can’t stop this,” Cedric says, voice quaking in fear. “You --”

Arthur throws a nonverbal stunning spell and watches as Cedric’s arms snap to his sides and he hits the ground with a thud.

Morgana raises her eyebrows and he just shakes his head. “I’m really not in the mood for the whole evil villain monologuing.”

She hits his shoulder as they set off down a much narrower stairwell. “You and me both. Let’s go save your boyfriend.”

The door leads to a staircase he’s never been down before, one he hadn’t even noticed when they would play and seek in the cellar as children, all ancient stone and cobwebs. It’s more of a cave than a stairwell. They stumble down the uneven stairs as fast as they can manage without bumping into one another.

At the bottom they burst into a room, huge and cavelike with rough stone making up the walls and ceiling, torches lit all along the perimeter. A long, narrow stone altar resides in the center. 

Just on the other side of the altar, three figures turn toward them and Arthur’s knees nearly buckle in relief at the sight of Merlin alive and whole and staring right at him. But it’s the gasp from Morgana that has him staring at the other two in shock and his stomach tightens in dread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next Chapter will be up soon!
> 
> Next chapter features: An ancient prophecy fulfilled at last
> 
> Comments and kudos are the best :D


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the thank-yous to [rainbow_writer](/users/rainbow_writer) for reading this over.

It’s easier than it should be to get into the most important place in the whole Wizarding World. Or at least that’s what Percival thinks as he follows Gwaine into a very strange and rickety telephone box turned elevator down into the depths of the Ministry. 

“What happens if a muggle wanders in?” Percival asks as the elevator rattles and descends deeper, looking from the chipped paint to the not quite operational telephone.

Gwaine looks up from where he’d been absent mindedly rubbing the edge of the mirror with his thumb. They hadn’t heard anything since Elyan’s initial correspondence that they were at Avalon Manor. Percival doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad sign. 

Gwaine shrugs. “Dunno, maybe the box like -- Stuns them or something.”

Not for the first time, Percival wonders about the intelligence of wizards as a whole.

(He still refuses to use a quill and ink even if it does make it very obvious that he is muggleborn. Pens are so superior there isn’t even a competition and anyone who disagrees is being stubbornly obtuse.)

They step into the longest hall Percival has ever seen, the floor so shiny and dark he can see his own shocked expression looking up at him when he glances down, the ceiling a deep blue woven with flashing gold symbols. Lining the hall on both sides are what must be dozens of fireplaces. But what really catches his attention is the sheer number of bodies packed into the place, all standing one behind the other, in an incredibly long and winding queue.

Gwaine lets out a long breath and winces. “Might be trickier to find anyone than I thought. If people are waiting all the way up here on Level 8 and the proceedings are down on Level 10 in the Courtrooms...then there’s got to be hundreds of wizards here.”

There’s a chance that the group forming the rescue mission is just as stupid as wizards at large.

Percival furrows his brow as he catches sight of a wizard near the end of the hall closest to them, wearing a very bored expression and holding up a tall post with a banner attached that flashes the message: _Line starts here_ and then _approximate wait time: four hours_.

He nudges Gwaine and nods toward the sign. “They might be able to help.” If they’ve seen everyone who has passed through them maybe they would remember seeing their professors.

The wizard blinks at them disdainfully. “Yes, the wait is really four hours or longer. No, I cannot be bribed to shuffle you to the front. No, you cannot move your space in line because the person next to you is making you uncomfortable.” He flashes a narrowed eyed glare at a woman in a large feathered hat that keeps hitting those she’s standing by.

Gwaine clears his throat and steps forward. “We’re looking for Professor McGonagall. It’s an emergency.”

The wizard manning the sign blinks at them one too many times. “And what am I supposed to do about that?”

“Well,” Percival says, “you haven’t happened to see her, have you?”

There’s some more blinking as the man looks between the two of them and then to the large quantity of people behind him. “Do you really think I’d be able to pick out a specific person in a crowd like this?”

Gwaine purses his lips. “I guess not...can we look for her? Swear we aren’t cutting in line or anything.” He flashes a not quite innocent smile.

The man shrugs. “Whatever, mate. I’m not getting paid to police everyone.”

“Brilliant.” Gwaine grabs Percival’s arm and tugs him around the edge of the room. “So here’s my idea: If we cause enough of a disruption, then they’ll have to go get McGonagall as she’s sort of the one in charge of us while we’re at school.” Gwaine pulls a handful of dungbombs from the pockets of his robes. “I’ve still got plenty of dung bombs which will --”

Gwaine cuts off and shrinks slightly in on himself as he barrels straight into a group of very familiar faces, a cluster of three of their professors, all of whom look rather stern and austere at the sight of the objects in Gwaine’s possession.

Professor Longbottom crosses his arms and the Headmistress raises a skeptical brow. Professor Gaius looks thoroughly exasperated.

Gwaine pouts. “So much for dramatically interrupting the proceedings. I hardly ever get to do anything exciting.” Percival resists the urge to point out that this very afternoon Gwaine set off dozens of bombs in their school and they travelled here on a flying magical beast.

McGonagall shakes her head. Her voice is low but the strict tone of the reprimand carries over the noise of the hall. “Would you boys care to explain what it is exactly you are doing at the Ministry armed with enough foul-smelling explosive devices to clear the building?” Percival winces. So maybe he shouldn’t have just agreed to the first idea Gwaine had. He blames his bad decision making on being a wizard. “Or how you left the castle? Or why you broke dozens of school rules just to be here?”

“Er -- we flew,” Gwaine says.

Professor Gaius raises his terrifying eyebrow. “You flew?”

“On hippogriffs,” Percival adds because it seems like an important point of clarification. “They’re just outside.” Percival isn’t exactly sure they are still outside as there is every chance that they flew off the moment he and Gwaine entered the telephone booth. He’s hoping wherever they are they are avoiding London traffic.

McGonagall narrows her eyes but Longbottom looks like he might be suppressing a smile. Gaius shakes his head. “I didn’t realize you were so passionate about the ongoings of the Ministry --”

“It’s Merlin,” Gwaine says and that stops Gaius completely.

His face visibly pales and his eyes widen quite dramatically. “What happened?” Or that’s what Percival thinks he says, his voice has gone soft and he can barely be heard over the chattering of voices around them.

“Agravaine took him,” Percival says. At this point several people in line have looked over and are openly eavesdropping on the conversation. “Arthur and Morgana and some of the others went after them.”

“ _Went after them_!” Mcgonagall exclaims but Gwaine interrupts.

“They’re at Avalon Manor, the Pendragon’s home.”

Gaius sucks in a sharp breath. “We need to --”

There’s a hot glow from inside his pocket and Percival pulls out the small round mirror to answer it. He shoots a nervous look at his professors. “Er -- pardon me, I should answer this.”

McGonagall sputters something like, “ _answer this_!” but he’s immediately distracted by Gwen and Freya’s frantic faces popping into view.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. If the professors have any opinions about the mirrors in their possession, they keep it to themselves.

“Kilgharrah left!” Gwen says at the same time Freya shouts, “ _he’s a dragon_!” Percival looks to Gwaine to see if that means anything to him but Gwaine just shrugs and shakes his head.

Professor Gaius holds out his hand and Percival hands over the mirror. “Girls, how do you know this?” Percival and Gwaine peer over his shoulders.

Gwen’s eyes go huge at the sight of Gaius. “Hello Professor,” Gwen greets in an overly polite tone, adjusting her hair. “We were -- er -- following Professor Kilgharrah because --”

Freya’s face pops fully into frame. “Because he’s suspicious as hell and we don’t trust him!” Freya’s normally quiet disposition has clearly been shaken to its core by the events of the evening. Or maybe she’s just been spending too much time with Will. “And he just _jumped_ from the Astronomy Tower and transformed into a giant _dragon_ and is _flying_ to Avalon Manor!”

“We think,” Gwen adds. “We couldn’t exactly ask where he was headed because he was -- er -- flying.” Gwen pauses. “As a dragon,” she adds if they all somehow managed to forget that part of the conversation.

Gaius looks from the mirror to his colleagues and says, “We must move quickly, I fear we don’t have much time.”

The ceiling above them gives a rattle as everyone in the room shrieks and braces for cover.

Gaius looks rather ashen as he adds, “I fear we might already be too late.”

\--

Morgana feels frozen, rooted to the stone beneath her feet. The world is turning on its head at the sight before her. 

She and Arthur stand on the threshold of the cave-like room, an enormous stone dais sits in the center looking far too much like a sacrificial altar for Morgana’s tastes. And on the other side Merlin is looking at them with eyes wide in something like fear but also apology. And behind him...

Her uncle, they had been expecting, looking as oily and slimy as always. Sweaty and snarling in distress. But his companion?

“Professor?”

Professor Nimueh gives a laugh in something like relief. The easy smile Morgana knows so well suddenly looks menacing, the red lipstick the same shade as blood.

“Morgana!” Nimueh exclaims. “At last!”

“What -- wha --” she turns to Arthur who looks just as thrown as she does but _angry_ , like he might try to fight his way out of this with nothing but the sword in his grasp. Both of their wands are pointed across the room but they can’t cast any spells without running the risk of hitting Merlin. Nimueh however, has her wand pressed against Merlin’s back and a hand clutched into his shoulder with no sign that she’s going to remove it, holding him hostage. Morgana narrows her eyes at the tight grip of her fingers.

“Morgana,” Nimueh says again, like maybe the more air she puts in her voice the more likely it is that Morgana will believe her. “Thank gods! You are just in time.”

“In time for what?” She asks in spite of herself.

Her professor’s next smile looks far more genuine. “To fulfill the prophecy.”

Merlin thrashes violently in her grip. “Don’t believe her, Morgana! She’s a --” Merlin’s warning is cut off as he jerks as if stung, the wand behind him giving off a spark. His back arches and lets out a shrill high-pitched shriek of pain. Arthur snarls in rage. Morgana grabs his arm so he doesn’t throw himself across the room.

“Stop!” Morgana shouts and everyone goes still, Merlin’s cries cut off abruptly as Nimueh hits him with another spell, stopping the _Crucio_ and instead cursing him with silence.

Merlin looks murderous, his hands giving off gentle sparks. That’s good. She thinks. It means if need be Merlin can fight back. He must be saving his magic for...something. She needs to give him time to figure out what he wants to do. So she needs to stall and be as annoying and difficult as possible (a Pendragon trademark). 

She levels Nimueh with a glare and sets her shoulders back. “Explain yourself,” she spits out, hiding her fear behind a mask of confidence.

Nimueh’s eyes dart from Merlin to Morgana like she’s calculating something. Morgana doesn’t know what. Her professor gives her another soft smile and it takes everything in Morgana’s power not to cross the room and wipe it off her face. Maybe Arthur should be holding _her_ back.

Nimueh licks her lips. “It is as I told you all year, Morgana. _You_ can bring back Old Magic.” Another smile and Morgana feels like she might be sick. “ _We_ can, together.”

Morgana shakes her head, tired of lies. “The prophecy --”

Nimueh tsk’s her tongue, the sweet innocent act almost completely gone and in her place is a terrifying woman with a face like stone. “I’ve taught you better than that Morgana. You know as well as I do that prophecies are only certain once they are fulfilled.”

“You’re…” her mind is slowly putting the pieces together. “You’re trying to fulfill the prophecy with you and Merlin and -- and _Agravaine_?” She puts as much disgust as possible into the last word. Her uncle puffs out his chest in irritation at her tone and she shoots him a withering glare in response. 

Honestly, the evil sorceress act she could nearly get on board with but choosing _Agravaine_ as her partner in crime? That was unforgivable.

Nimueh spares her uncle one disdainful glance. “Unfortunately I needed a wizard King and those are hard to come by these days. Particularly one willing to blindly carry out orders.” She shrugs. “To achieve our goals we have to concede on some things.”

“How _dare_ \--” Agravaine hisses but Nimueh silences him with nothing but a glare and he shrivels up right under gaze, as pathetic as Morgana always remembered him. The moment he got all high and mighty they should have realized someone else was calling the shots. Agravaine would never be capable of orchestrating something like this, of orchestrating anything.

Beside her Arthur lets out a gust of air. “It’s been _you_. This whole time. Pulling the strings, enchanting the charm and the necklace against Uther, telling Agravaine what to do and how to do it. He’s just been your...puppet.” Arthur gives their uncle a look of disgust. “Worse than a puppet because you didn’t even _Imperio_ him or anything. He’s a leech, ready to follow anyone who promises him power.” Arthur turns his fierce glare on Nimueh. “It was you in the forest back in November, wasn’t it? You just disguised your voice in case anyone overheard. You were the one who summoned the wyverns.” Arthur shakes his head, looking as annoyed as Morgana feels. “But you used Old Magic to do all those things so what do you need Merlin and Morgana for? Why stage a huge Registry to search for people with Old Magic?”

Nimueh’s eyes flash in anger and she clutches Merlin tighter. “As I’m sure Morgana informed you, the Old Magic left in this world is small, minute. It hardly registers when you reach for it. It’s taken me _years_ of meticulous study to harness the infinitesimal amount of which I am able. I need someone who can harness all of it at once, redistribute it.”

“For you?” Arthur sneers. 

Nimueh only smiles in response. “I used it once before and I intend to use it again.”

Arthur gives a groan. “Great, you’re one of the reincarnation crackpots. Suppose you think I’m the actual King Arthur as well?”

Morgana suppresses an eye roll. Is now really the time to goad the woman who is currently holding Merlin at wand point and debate the merits of said woman’s belief system? 

There’s too many pieces that don’t make sense. “But...I can’t use Old Magic,” her voice can’t help but lilt up right on the last word, making it a question full of far more hope than it should be. Because maybe she _should_ be able to use it. And that’s why Nimueh’s been working her so hard all year, trying to get her to succeed. That’s why she gave her the book on Old Magic in the first place. So Nimueh could use Morgana to get the magic for herself. Betrayal slices Morgana like a knife. Nimueh never cared about her at all.

“That’s why she took Merlin and had the Registry,” Arthur says quietly from her side, always just a step ahead of her. “She needed someone else who could use it. Collateral in case…”

Morgana sucks in an angry breath. “In case I never got a hold of it.” Gods, even evil villains have no faith in her. (Though what does it say about Morgana that she feels a little ashamed to have disappointed the villain in question?)

“No, Morgana,” Nimueh says, all smiles and soft eyes once more. The face of the woman who helped her sort through her dreams and understand that she wasn’t a failure, she just possessed different skills. “I _know_ you can.”

Morgana shakes her head at the woman across from her. Her favorite teacher is an absolute mad woman and the manipulation might work better if Morgana weren’t so aware of her own faults. “I assure you, I cannot.” She’s tried enough on her own and with Merlin trying to guide her. Old Magic just isn’t her calling.

Nimueh reaches in her robes and pulls out a small vial full of purple liquid. The same potion Morgana drank months ago, the same color as the cauldron boiling in Nimeuh’s office for the past few weeks. Nimueh has been ready, waiting. She’s been planning this for _so long_ and Morgana didn’t even notice. “I know you can, Morgana, because you have harnessed all of it before. Though last time without any direction it did land you in the hospital wing.”

The note in the book: _You will need this in the end_.

And now the end is here.

Morgana sets her jaw and glares at the woman. “Why would I ever help you? After you tried to hurt Merlin and Arthur? And _lied_ to me for an entire year, trying to mold me into your own personal minion? After you tried to off my father!” Morgana shakes her head. “You haven’t the faintest idea who I really am if you think I’m going to help the likes of you!”

Her shout echoes throughout the chamber, ricocheting off the ancient stone of this cave. Merlin’s mouth is open, no sound escaping but there’s something like pride in his gaze as he looks across the room at her. She gives him the smallest of nods. They need to free Merlin so he can use his magic, so he can save them. Merlin is their only chance. Arthur can undo a silencing spell, he’s done it loads of times. But she doesn’t know how to convey that is what she needs him to do. For perhaps the first time in her entire life she wishes they had some sort of twin telepathy.

Nimueh gives a smile, molasses slow and terrifying. “I’m stunned you care so much for Uther Pendragon.”

“It’s a bait,” Arthur whispers beside her. “Don’t rise to it.”

But Morgana has never been good at quelling her curiosity.

“What do you mean?” Asking the question even though she knows she will not like the answer. Knowing she won’t know whether or not she can believe it.

Nimueh tilts her head and pouts in disappointment. “Morgana, you are so much _smarter_ than this. I thought you would have already pieced it together by now.”

Her blood thuds faster in her veins. “Pieced what together?” she whispers.

Nimueh’s smile stretches even wider, more a bearing of teeth than an actual grin. “The reason why your star charts and horoscopes were never an accurate reflection of you. Why your father did everything in his power to erase Igraine Pendragon from your lives.” A quirk of her brow. “Why despite using magic in a very public location over holidays, the Ministry did not send you a letter of disciplinary action for using underage magic.”

The pieces start falling more rapidly into place and the reason becomes an angry festering wound:

Why Uther doesn’t have a single picture of her and Arthur as children.

Why her and Arthur look so incredibly different.

Why she received an invitation to Apparition lessons during the wrong term.

Why on a dark random night in November a Centaur told her to make a wish.

Morgana blinks so very slowly, feeling as if she’s looking into a deep and dangerous well of knowledge. If she looks any further she’s sure to fall in. She doesn’t know who might crawl back out.

“Quit lying!” Arthur snarls. Nimueh hurls a silencing spell at Arthur to which he throws up a shield to block. Arthur turns to her in pleading exasperation. “We can’t believe her, Morgana. She’s just saying whatever nonsense she thinks will earn your trust.”

But there’s a prickling under Morgana’s skin, the same feeling she gets when she realizes the meaning of one of her Visions, when she uncovers the _truth_.

Nimueh’s face is a cruel mockery of what might be sympathy. “You are the daughter of Uther Pendragon but your mother was not Igraine. It is the fear of his reputation, the kindness of Igraine, and the desperation of your birth mother that they took you in as an infant, hid you away until Arthur was born, and pretended you were twins. He’s lied to you, Morgana. He’s an evil cruel man who cares only for himself. He never cared for you at all. A representation of all his sins.”

Morgana feels like the floor has given out beneath her as she takes in Nimueh’s words. 

“I dreamed this,” she whispers, not sure if anyone can hear her, not sure she’s even hearing herself over the rushing of blood in her ears. She hadn’t understood why she had the dream at the time, she thought it was a warning of some sort about something that was going to happen to her father. But it was a different sort of warning. The kind letting her know that history is repeating itself. That the betrayal of a father will be sending her on a dark and dangerous journey.

Arthur sucks in a shocked gasp and she turns to look at her brother who is looking at her with eyes wide with worry and fear. She’s not sure what Arthur fears more: the truth or what Morgana will do with the truth.

He opens his mouth to say something but no words come out.

 _Arthur_ who is in the prophecy and _Merlin_ who is in the prophecy and _now_ …

Morgana sets back her shoulders and surveys the room. “I’m the Daughter of Pluto.”

\--

Merlin watches in silent horror as Morgana takes a step toward the mad woman holding him captive, eyes alight with something that might be hope. Though he cannot see her, he can practically sense Nimueh’s snarling smile. Her hand grips his shoulder even tighter because she’s _won_.

“Morgana!” Arthur yells, looking hurt and horrified and _betrayed_.

Morgana doesn’t stop, doesn’t even spare him a backward glance as she makes her way across the cavern to stand before Nimueh, staring at the woman in awe.

Arthur is distracted, because the only thing that could ever really distract Arthur at a time like this is the safety of his loved ones. And Merlin is still cursed with silence and can’t warn him before Agravaine points his wand and yells, “ _imobilus_!” Then Arthur is just as silent and frozen as Merlin, eyes wide and shocked as Morgana walks around the stone dais toward Nimueh.

Merlin can’t believe it. That Morgana would do this, would cross the threshold toward Nimueh with her palm open, ready to join forces with someone so _evil_ just because her father is a lying bastard. The worst part is she won’t look at him so he can’t even properly show her how disgusted he is with how utterly selfish she’s being. He can’t convey how _disappointed_ he is. He can’t attempt to reason with the girl he found crying alone in the dungeon so many years ago and extend a hand to help her back to her feet.

“The power will be ours, Morgana,” Nimueh hisses. “We can show the world the importance of Old Magic and the dangers of underestimating someone because of their skills. We can bring forth the enlightened age, Morgana.”

Morgana’s hand is shaking as Nimueh passes the potion into her palm. She holds the vial between her thumb and forefinger, staring at it in something like wonder. She’s standing right in front of Merlin but she may as well be clear on the other side of the world. She’s a stranger and Merlin can’t help but feel like if this is the choice she’s making, then he’s never really known her at all.

“Drink the potion, Morgana. It enhances your affinity for Old Magic and will allow you to tap into all of it at once. You are better able to access the magic than even I. You can _free_ it and direct it.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “Free it?”

“From this house, this _prison_ , this is where it died so _this_ is the source of all magic. Each time you tapped into it _this_ is where it originated from. This is where all the magic _is_. In the Pendragon Family Home, the last relic of Camelot, The Den of Dragons. Can’t you feel it?”

Morgana goes back to studying the vial and then her eyes light up as she looks back up. “Yes,” she says slowly as if she’s choosing her words carefully. “I know _exactly_ what you mean about feeling the source of the magic.” 

At last she looks at Merlin and smiles something small and sad and he feels his eyes sting at her expression. He wants to beg her to reconsider. “I’ve always wanted to be special,” Morgana whispers. It sounds like an apology. And Merlin realizes he's heard her say those words before, in their tower when she found out about Merlin's magic. This is exactly what Morgana said she wanted. Merlin can only open his mouth in a silent scream and hit her with a look of rage and sorrow. How could she do this to them, to _everyone,_ to magic?

“And you are, Morgana,” Nimueh gushes. “History will _remember_ you, just as they have from the days of Camelot. You were an incredibly powerful enchantress before and you shall be again.”

Morgana turns her smile on Nimueh. “I know.” And her face shifts just a little, so small only someone who knows her the way Merlin does would notice. It’s the expression she gets when she catches a younger student out of bounds on her prefect patrols after she’s had a particularly long day. The same look she gets when she’s about to tell Arthur how incorrect he is with an itemized list complete with appropriate citations. She’s wearing the face that says she’s about to prove someone _wrong_.

She smirks a little at her professor. “Just not the way you think.”

“What --”

Morgana’s whips out her wand faster than Merlin has ever seen. “ _Bombarda_!” she yells and Nimueh is thrown across the room with a scream in an explosion that sends Morgana and Merlin in separate directions, the wild explosion of an uncontrolled spell, all power no finesse. The passionate magic of desperation.

Far above them the house gives an unsteady groan.

Merlin’s head cracks painfully against the stone altar, making him see stars. His magic jumps to the surface with a crack, propelling him to his feet.

“Merlin!”

He looks up and Morgana is across the room, on hands and knees near the entrance, an arm thrown before her. And between them the vial is turning in the air where it sails straight toward him, Morgana’s aim sure and true. Without thinking, he jumps up and snatches it in his palm, pops off the lid, and downs it one go.

“ _NO_ \--” Nimueh screams.

Lightning erupts under his veins. There’s a fire in him, burning and brilliant and brighter than it’s ever been before. All the magic of the world is singing just under his fingertips _right there_ within his reach, the faint hum before now a complete symphony, and it’s all _Merlin’s_ to direct. Thick tendrils of gold magic crackle around him, sparking along the walls with loud pops. With a roar Merlin throws his hands before him, eyes flashing bright, and clenches both fists bringing everything to a halt.

Time stands completely and totally still.

Merlin studies the faces of those around him in this damp and wet cave that time forgot. He looks at Morgana, brilliant and brave and _cunning_ Morgana. She’s on her knees where she hit the ground, a triumphant sort of smile on her face, eyes swimming in what could only be pride. And then there’s Arthur using the momentum of the explosion to propel himself forward, the sword still firmly clutched in his grasp, as selfless and noble as Merlin has ever seen him. Nimeuh’s face is twisted and cruel, mouth open and ready to snarl in rage. And Agravaine is angry too, though there is fear behind his eyes because clearly these events are not transpiring the way he was promised. They are both trying to get to their feet, wands loose and unsteady in their grasps. 

Destiny, Merlin realizes as he takes in the scene before him, is not simply a predetermined series of events. It is not the outcome, it’s the _journey_. It’s the choices you make along the way that lead you to the end of the story.

And it’s time for Merlin to make a choice.

The story could end with a conniving brother-in-law who crowned himself King and a woman corrupted by rage, resurrecting the shell of spirits, determined to steal magic for themselves.

Or it could end with a pair of siblings, both souls who have walked this earth before, both betrayed and abandoned by a father who didn’t believe in them, trying to atone for sins they did not commit.

His magic is sizzling and bubbling, trying to rip itself from the prison of Merlin’s body. It’s always fighting him, pushing him, using him to seep out into the environment to rejoin the magic still in the earth. 

And that’s when Merlin finally gets it, understands the missing piece to the prophecy that no one else could solve. The real reason why Uther Pendragon failed all those years ago. The truth that Nimueh was too blind to See.

The magic isn’t trapped in this house or in the earth. 

The magic is trapped in _Merlin_.

The story was always going to end with Merlin and it is his destiny to choose the ending.

Merlin takes in an unsteady breath, calming his magic enough to give it direction, to manipulate Time just a bit, the bubble around him morphing and shifting until it connects with Arthur, surrounds him and protects him and kicks Time into action for him.

Because there’s another choice, another option, another ending.

Arthur is not going to like it.

Arthur stumbles as Time restarts for him, catches himself and holds the sword aloft before him, looking from Nimueh’s silent scream of outrage to the empty potion bottle in Merlin’s hand.

“Merlin! What --”

There’s no time. Well, there is Time but the magic is getting impatient. It knows Merlin has figured it out. It knows Merlin is going to release it and it is only waiting for Merlin to cast the spell as a courtesy.

But really there isn’t the time to tell Arthur all the things Merlin wants to say. There’s no time for regret at the years they missed out on and the years they’ve been robbed and everything in between.

Merlin can only take a deep breath and commit Arthur shimmering in the gold of his magic to memory. He gives him a smile.

“I have an idea.”

Arthur nods. “Alright, yeah.” Ever loyal and always ready for action and Merlin feels his heart ache for what is probably the last time. “What do you want me to do?”

Merlin swallows and makes sure his voice is steady as he says, “I need you to trust me, Pendragon.”

\--

Arthur hates it. Hates that Merlin won’t tell him what he has planned and has to fly blind, trusting that Merlin isn’t going to do something incredibly stupid. Though the panicky feeling under his skin tells him it’s probably very stupid.

Merlin’s golden and glowing, great tendrils of magic sweeping around him, curling around his ankles and arms. Too beautiful for this dark and dusty setting.

He watches Merlin smile something so sad fear tingles its way down Arthur’s spine. Definitely going to be the stupidest decision Merlin’s ever made then.

“You get out of here, Arthur.” Merlin narrows his eyes, making them glow brighter. “I mean it. Get Morgana and your father safe.”

Arthur’s hand is sweaty and clammy around the sword. He swallows. “Merlin --” 

There’s so much to say, so much he _feels_ that he doesn’t know how to convey in just a few words.

Merlin’s smile goes relaxed and lopsided and it sort of makes Arthur want to cry. “I know. Me too.”

Arthur bites his lips and nods. If Merlin’s being brave then Arthur can be determined. He steels himself and tosses Excalibur through the air watching as it sails toward Merlin across the cave, and Merlin catches it easily like he’s done it 1000 times before.

Because maybe he has.

Because maybe this really is just a story they’ve all been told before.

Or maybe Merlin is just as great at everything as Arthur thinks he is.

With a final nod, Merlin’s eyes flash a blinding gold and the world starts turning once more.

Nimueh’s scream is shrill and furious but Arthur doesn’t spare her a glance, knowing Merlin’s magic will pin her down, keep her away from him. Arthur lunges across the room and grabs Morgana’s hand, pulling her toward the stairs, just as Merlin had ordered.

“Arthur!” She yells, sharp and unsure. Like maybe he still doesn’t believe her.

“Trust me!” Is all he has time to yell back. He’ll beg for forgiveness later and apologize for even thinking for one minute that she would turn on them. His sister is a far better person than he’ll ever be.

Morgana huffs and snatches her wrist from his grasp but flies through the cellar and up the stairs behind him. Lance looks startled as they leap over the last few stairs.

“Where’s Mer --”

Arthur’s flinches, full of regret that he left Merlin, but he trusts him and so they have to keep going. He shakes his head before he can think about it. The house makes a huge creaking noise and the floor shakes, nearly knocking all of them to their knees. “There’s no time! We need to go!”

Lance doesn’t make any more protests. Just points his wand at Uther and shouts, “ _Mobilicorpus_!”

His father levitates into the air and the three of them race from his home, Uther Pendragon floating behind.

The lawn is near empty, only a few remaining Shades fighting Leon, Elyan, Will, and Mordred. Will runs a sword through an elderly Shade before him and stares at Arthur through the dissipating smoke.

“Where’s Merlin?”

The house behind them makes a noise like it’s moaning loudly.

“Run!”

They make it nearly to the gate when there’s an explosion that shakes the ground, rattles the very foundation of the earth. A huge surge of magic bursts from the house, a wave of searing gold, that ignites Arthur’s vision and sends him to the ground with a heavy thud.

Next to him Morgana is shrieking loud and in agony with her hands clasped over her ears, tears streaming down her cheeks, eyes ignited in a blinding gold.

Leon and the others look up from where they landed with mouths slack and eyes wide not even turning to look at the dozens of wizards and Aurors and professors who have appeared just beyond the property line. All of them look stunned to silence.

Arthur turns, his throat thick with fear, to watch as Avalon Manor gives one final shudder.

Then a _dragon_ dives right into the heart of it and it collapses completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next update will be soon!
> 
> Next Chapter features: A return to our favorite wizard hospital
> 
> Comments and kudos are the best :D


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to [rainbow_writer](/users/rainbow_writer) for giving this a read through :)

There’s an emptiness to him, like something’s missing. As if something has been stolen from inside of him but he can’t quite figure out what it is. Is he dead? If he was dead he wouldn’t be able to think right? Gods, Merlin really hopes this isn’t what being a ghost is like, it’s going to be a rather awful and boring eternity.

The memories are vague and painful, weighing him down even more as he tries to recall what happened: A sword, a stone, an explosion of gold, and _Arthur_.

Merlin tries to shake himself awake. He’s still too heavy, trapped under the blanket that is unconsciousness. But his senses are turning back on one by one. There is a stiff sort of fabric itching his arms and as his awareness slowly increases, he realizes he has an incredibly starched sheet thrown over him, scratching his skin.

He takes a deep breath and cool, clean air fills his lungs. A gentle waft of herbs tickles his nose as the scent makes its way down his throat before he’s hit with the unmistakable sharp tang of antiseptic.

Merlin squints his eyes against the near blinding white of the room around him. He’s been here before, or rather he’s been in a room like it. Though last time, the Minister of Magic was lying in the bed.

So he’s probably not dead.

As his eyes adjust to the too bright room he notices there’s a woman seated beside him. Her brown hair pulled back with a loose ribbon, knitted shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, flipping through the pages of the _Daily Prophet_. A picture of what was once Avalon Manor covers the front page, though only the wrought iron gate with the intricate dragon head is recognizable. The house itself is gone.

“Mum?”

Merlin hardly recognizes his voice, raspy from either disuse or over use.

A memory comes to focus so sharply his visions swims.

 _With haste he leapt onto the altar and held the sword high above him, the power of the world coursing through his veins. He screamed as he plunged the sword into the stone, just as the legends foretold. The magic poured out of him hotter than fire, burning all his veins and nerve and limbs, nearly ripping him into one thousand pieces, retuning the magic to the earth, binding it with this sword in a Touchstone so powerful none can break it and none will be able to free it, no one will pull the sword from this stone and_ \--

His mother’s voice brings him back to the present.

“Merlin!” The paper is tossed aside as his mother throws her arms around him. His eyes sting sharp and grow wet at the familiar comfort of her embrace. He doesn’t realize he’s sobbing until she gently wipes off his cheeks. She presses a kiss to his temple and sits beside him on the bed, rocking him back and forth, whispering soft words of reassurance, until he starts to calm down. 

It’s more than he deserves.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. Gods was he really going to spend the next few weeks not talking to her? Why would he even _try_ to do that? What if he had died without the chance to speak to her again?

His mother just pats his hair down. “Shh, there will be time for that later, for now just rest, my dear.” She hugs him tighter and he squeezes his eyes shut against a fresh onslaught of tears.

After several calming breaths he looks up at her to see her eyes are wet too. “How long was I out?” He’s feeling off-kilter, like something inside him is still off. As if he woke up from an unexpected nap and suddenly it’s night when he fell asleep with the sun high in the sky. A quick glance down lets him know he seems more or less intact.

“Two weeks.”

His jaw drops. Two weeks? They must be well into Easter Holidays by now. He’s going to have _so_ much schoolwork to catch up on. “Gods,” he croaks, voice thick with tears.

She cards her fingers through his hair. “They think what you did, using all that magic, drained you and your body needed time to recover.” She licks her lips as if she’s nervous. “It’s hard to say because no one really understands Old Magic.”

Merlin swallows. “So you know what happened?”

His mother gives him a sad smile. “More or less. You fulfilled the prophecy.”

His heart picks up a tick. “It worked? I --” His own memories are still fuzzy and just out of reach. If he prods too close --

 _The world was burning gold and the magic was draining, emptying, leaving, flowing through the sword returning home_ \--

He shakes his head and his mother is giving him a very worried look. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, new tears springing to the surface. “I didn’t --” He doesn’t quite know what to apologize for first. “I should have written you back right away.”

She gives him a rather broken smile. “Merlin, you needed time to sort through your feelings.” She hugs him tight and lets him cry like he did when he was small and scraped his knee. When he reaches the point of quiet hiccuping breaths, she pats his back. “And you needn’t apologize for being upset. I should apologize as I made the mistake, keeping the truth from you.” He gives a pathetic sniffle and his mother squeezes him close again. “We’ll talk more when you are feeling better. Right now you just need to focus on resting and recovering.”

But there’s so much he still needs to _know_ and something is still so very really wrong. He feels like he lost something but he can’t remember what it is. “ _Mum_ ,” he chokes not sure how to convey how grateful he is for her presence and how much she means to him and how he really just wants her to fix all his problems like she did when he was young.

“Merlin, you need to sleep, to heal and get better.” She wipes off his tears with her hands again. “We’ll talk when you wake, I promise. And I’ll answer any questions you have then.” Another small smile. “I should have answered them a long time ago.”

“But,” he tries but exhaustion is pulling him under again. He needs to tell her to go get a Healer because something is wrong with him, something doesn’t feel right, something inside of him isn’t working.

And then right before he goes back under he identifies the missing sensation with a numb sort of shock.

His magic is gone.

\--

When he wakes up again, Morgana is seated beside him.

Her eyes are red but she looks more rested than he’s seen her in months. 

“How are you?” She asks and winces just a touch, like she knows it’s a dumb question.

“My --” he can’t finish the sentence.

 _My magic is gone_.

He shakes his head and closes his eyes. Don’t think about it. Not right now. Focus. On the sharp smell in the air and the rough fabric under his fingers and the steady breathing of the girl near him. He takes in a breath and looks at her wary expression. “How are you?”

“I stopped having nightmares.” She gives a small smile. “I’ve slept better the past two weeks than I have my whole life. And my Visions are even better than before.” That’s not exactly what Merlin meant, he’d much rather know about what happened at the Manor, but he’s still trying to starve off a spiral into panic. He blinks at her and waits for her to continue, watches as she pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “I’m sorry.”

Merlin shakes his head. Perhaps intense confusion was a symptom of magic exhaustion as he hasn’t the faintest what Morgana has to apologize for. “What?”

“It’s my fault, that all of this happened, that you and Uther got hurt. I’m the one who kept feeding Nimueh information all while she --”

“Morgana,” Merlin interrupts. “Their whole plan was to manipulate you -- well, all of us really -- and use _us_ to reach their own goals. You can’t blame yourself.” She gives an unconvincing nod and wipes her cheeks. “Where’s Arthur?”

She smirks at him and Merlin tries not to blush. She takes pity on him and doesn’t comment on the rather red tinge to his cheeks. “He’s been lurking by your bed almost nonstop for two weeks. I don’t know how he keeps getting in, the Welcome Witch is only supposed to let your mother and Gaius up.” Merlin has a fairly good idea why the Welcome Witch is giving Arthur special treatment. “I kicked him out and made him go down the hall to get some sleep.”

“But he’s ok, you and Arthur and everyone are all right? I didn’t --” _I didn’t kill anyone in the house I brought down._

Morgana nods. “We’re fine.” She bites her lip, hesitant like she’s been told not to tell him anything that is going to upset him.

Merlin takes a breath. He’s assuming Morgana is more likely to give him information than his mother. It has not escaped his notice that all traces of newspapers have vanished from his room. And even if Morgana has been instructed not to share information, she’s never been one to obey authority figures. “What happened to Agravaine and Nimueh?”

Morgana looks over her shoulder but they are alone in the room. She lowers her voice as she says, “Agravaine and Aredian and Cedric are in custody. There’s already a date set for their trial and everything.” She bites her lip. “Nimueh disappeared.”

Merlin’s stomach gives a nervous sort of flip. “As in died?” As in Merlin _killed_ her?

Morgana shakes her head. “As in _vanished_. No body, no trace of magic, no anything. A fleet of Aurors are searching for her so I’m not sure how long she’s going to be able to hide but,” Morgana shrugs like she doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. 

“So...we lost?” Merlin asks, somehow feeling even more miserable than he did before. All of that and Nimueh still got away?

Morgana furrows her brow. “I don’t know if I would say that...I don’t think anything is as easy as winning and losing. You completed the prophecy and Agravaine is going to rot in jail for the rest of his life and even though it was interrupted early, the Wizengamot Hearing was a huge success. There’s a lot of changes on the horizon, _good_ changes, in the lives of Magical Beings all over the world.”

Merlin supposes Morgana is right and that counts for something but still... “What about Nimueh?” Merlin wants her brought to justice, to look him in the eye as she confesses to her crimes, he wants her to _pay_ for what she did to him and Morgana.

Morgana picks at the skin around her thumb. “She was really weak, after that necromancy spell. I think she was counting on getting the Old Magic all to herself and then like...taking over the world as a tyrant or whatever. Even if she is still alive, I don’t think she has the energy to keep going for long.” Morgana’s expression has gone very uncomfortable while talking about her former teacher so it might be time for a change of subject.

“You saved us,” he says. Morgana gives a small smile far more modest than usual. “You saved the _world_.”

Morgana shakes her head. “You did all the work.”

Merlin shrugs. “Maybe but you’re the reason we tricked Nimueh. She underestimated you. It was her biggest mistake.” Morgana is looking rather embarrassed under all of Merlin’s praise so he grins and leans forward, laying it on thicker. “And you knew I was the source of magic before even I did. Your genius is the reason things worked out the way they did.”

Her next smile is much wider and pleased with herself. “Well, if you want to shower me in compliments, I’m certainly not going to stop you.”

There’s a peaceful sort of stillness between them as Merlin tries to figure out the pieces he still doesn’t have. “How’d I get out? I sort of thought I was going to bury myself under the house forever.” It had been his intention. End the story with him paying the price to free magic, use Excalibur to bind it back to the earth, give it _away_ \--

Morgana leans forward. “Kilgharrah got you out.”

A startled laugh escapes him and even she smirks a little. “Kilgharrah is like a million years old,” Merlin says.

“Yeah,” Morgana agrees, “and he’s an animagus. He can transform into a _dragon_.” Merlin feels his eyes widen. “Gwen and Freya said he _jumped_ from the Astronomy Tower and transformed mid-air. Absolute madman.”

Of all the revelations, this just might be the most strange. “Guess that’s why he’s the Transfiguration professor. Why didn’t he show us that in third year when we learned about animagi? All we had were pictures in the book and that stupid rumor Will started that McGonagall is actually Mrs. Norris.”

A voice from the door makes them both jump. “I like to have a bit of mysterious intrigue or students grow rather bored of my lessons.”

They both turn to look at the old man standing in the doorway on the threshold of the room, expression wary as if he’s not sure he’s welcome to enter. Merlin narrows his eyes and clenches his jaw.

Morgana notices Merlin’s expression and her face turns into a snarl. “I don’t think you’re welcome here, _professor_.” 

Merlin has a moment of gratitude for his friend ready to square up and fight off a teacher just because Merlin looks uncomfortable. And then he feels guilty for the doubt he had back at the Manor. How could anyone ever doubt Morgana Pendragon?

Kilgharrah holds up his hands in defense. “If young Emrys would like me to go I will, I only wanted a moment of his time.”

“Don’t do that,” Merlin says. Kilgharrah raises an eyebrow. Merlin clarifies. “Don’t call me young Emrys and don’t talk about me like I’m not right here.”

He only raises one gray bushy eyebrow. “But I may come in?”

“Yeah, all right. But I’m not in the mood for any riddles. You can only come in if you are actually going to be honest.” The professor nods and steps into the room. “And Morgana gets to stay,” Merlin adds.

Morgana gives a triumphant smile and settles back into her chair.

Merlin lets out a breath. “What do you have to say?”

“I just wanted to make sure you are all right, after all you did. Now that you…” Kilgharrah trails off and purses his lips, studying Merlin with a furrowed brow.

Now that he doesn’t have magic. Kilgharrah _knows_. Which means...

Something sharp and angry cuts through him. “You knew this whole time that it would end this way. With me sacrificing _everything_ ,” Merlin hisses. “This is what you wanted all along, ever since Nimueh went to Uther and he recruited you. You wanted Old Magic to be freed and me being the one to do it. And you set a series of clues to ensure it did. Without giving any fucking warning,” he snarls, angrier than he’s been in a long time, angrier than he even was at the Manor. “You are just as manipulative as Nimueh. Only I was your pawn instead of Morgana.” He sees Morgana’s fists tighten on the arms on the chair.

Both of them were used as a means to an end. And even if Kilgharrah’s intention was for the better of the world it doesn’t make it _right_.

Kilgharrah ducks his head like he might actually feel remorse. It makes Merlin all the more furious. “I do not admit to be free of sin but I did what I could in the confines of the Unbreakable Vow. A vow which I must regretfully inform you is still intact though Geoffrey has resurfaced and you are welcome to talk to him. He went to America of all places. Personally, I would have rather faced Agravaine.”

Morgana scoffs, “don’t try to make jokes, professor, you aren’t funny.”

Kilgharrah levels Merlin with a long look. “Though Uther Pendragon believed his troubles with Nimueh to be over, Gaius and I did not believe so. Gaius of course promised your father to look out for you and I...I’ve worked for the past seventeen years to make sure Nimueh could not attempt to fulfill the prophecy with herself at the helm.” He stops and studies Merlin for an uncomfortably long amount of time. 

Merlin caves first and breaks the silence. “Why didn’t you just tell me what had to be done so I could know?”

Kilgharrah clasps his hands before him and sighs. “If you knew the price, would you have still paid it?”

Merlin takes in the empty feeling inside him. The feeling that something is missing, the ache of absence. It’s hollow and _awful_. 

“I’m not sure,” he answers honestly. “I think I would have tried for a different ending.”

Kilgharrah nods. “And I didn’t want to risk that. Old Magic isn’t meant to be trapped it’s meant to be freed and shared and unfortunately Destiny chose you.” He looks sad but Merlin can’t bring himself to feel any empathy for the man. “You did a brilliantly noble thing, Merlin. You truly saved magic in ways you don’t even understand yet.”

“ _I don’t want your praise_ ,” Merlin hisses, hastily wiping at his cheeks. He’s not going to cry in front of this man.

Kilgharrah sighs. “If you have more questions, I’m happy to answer them the best I can.”

Merlin crosses his arms as the man turns to leave. But there’s something he needs to know and Merlin asks the question before he can stop himself. “If no one died, was the price of magic really paid?”

Kilgharrah stops at the door and turns to him with an upturn of his mouth that on anyone else would be a smile. “I can only speculate but...you were willing to pay the price: die for your friends, lie to them so they would leave, and lose your magic. I believe it was never about actually paying the price, it was all about the willingness to do so.”

Merlin scowls at the bed. “You couldn’t have told me that before,” Merlin mutters as the door clicks shut behind him.

“Merlin,” he looks up at Morgana’s worried face. “What did he mean ‘lose your magic?’”

Tears flood his eyes anew and he feels his lips tremble. “It’s gone. I had to let it go. I made a Touchstone with Excalibur and put the magic back into the world.”

Morgana shakes her head. “But Merlin? What do you mean it’s gone?” She studies him for a few moments. “Can’t you feel it?”

“Don’t be cruel, Morgana,” he snaps.

Her eyes widen in shock. “No, I didn’t -- close your eyes,” she says impatiently. Merlin huffs an annoyed breath but after a trademark stubborn Pendragon glare, complies. “Push out your senses, just like the book described, like you’re _supposed to_ in order to access the Old Magic, not the way you did it during our lessons.” 

He does, calming his breathing, letting his senses open up and take in the world, and then a peace settles over him so fast he’s nearly dizzy. Something beautiful and electric and _singing_ is there just in the peripheral. It rushes into him and he’s enveloped in a warm golden feeling. A long lost friend saying hello.

He looks up at Morgana to see her eyes glowing a molten gold to match his own. 

She gives him a dazzling smile. “It’s not gone, Merlin. It’s _everywhere_.”

\--

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

Arthur looks up from the door to 4C to look at his sister. He shrugs. “Figured Uther owed us some answers now that he’s awake.”

Morgana crosses her arms, tension tight in her shoulders. She has yet to visit their father. “Did you get any?”

(“Arthur.”

It was so strange to see his father awake, reading the _Daily Prophet_ as if it was an ordinary day. Awake but feeble between the recent blood loss and the necklace that reversed all the medical treatments and a charm that poisoned his mind and sent him here in the first place.

“Father.”

The Healers told him that he shouldn’t _agitate_ him. Which essentially meant he couldn’t talk about the several thousand things he desperately needs to ask the man.

He swallowed and pulled up the same chair he sat in when he last visited with Merlin. “How are you feeling?”

His father studied him with hard eyes. “Better.” Uther Pendragon nodded his head once. “I imagine you have questions.”

Arthur shrugged. “Most can wait.”

His father rolled his eyes. “The way these Healers talk you’d think I was some sort of ancient wizard.”

Arthur blinked at him. “You almost _died_. Several times.”

His father shrugged. “It comes with the job.”

“It really doesn’t.” He shook his head. Only Uther Pendragon would remain as thoroughly stubborn even after a near death experience. Arthur bit his lip and studied his father. “Why?”

His father furrowed his brow. “Why what?”

“Why would you try to take the magic for yourself?”

Uther sat back against the bed in some semblance of regality. “The magic...it would be dangerous in the hands of those who would use it against us.” It was a weak excuse and only served to irritate Arthur.

Arthur scoffed. “And who is that? The Magical Creatures wizards have spent years using _their own magic_ to persecute and abuse? Seers and Divination experts we treat as second class because their magic isn’t ‘as strong,’ whatever the hell that even means?” Arthur crossed his arms. “Were you just scared what might happen if all other beings started treating wizards the way we treated everyone else for centuries?”

His father raised his brows, more in surprise than anger. “You’ve changed since I’ve been in here.”

Arthur shrugged, he changed well before now his father just never noticed. “Maybe. That doesn’t change the fact that you were wrong though.”

There were a few terse moments where the two of them looked at each other and Arthur felt like maybe his father was seeing him for the very first time. But there was one more thing he needed to ask before the Healers came back and ushered him from the room.

“How could you do that to Morgana?”

His father pressed his lips together and took several moments before he answered. “I did what I thought was best.”

“How could you possibly think lying to her was for the best?” There were many things he wouldn’t be able to forgive his father for but his treatment of Morgana would always be right at the top of the list.

There was more silence where Arthur thought his father wasn’t going to say anything at all. Because somehow in his mind he still thought he did what he had to, to protect his position at the expense of his daughter’s trust.

At last his father spoke. “How --” His father licked his lips, “how is Morgana?”

“You’ll have to talk to her yourself.” Arthur stood and pushed the chair back. “And we’ll talk later when you’re...better. I have more questions I want answered.” About his mother, and his uncle, and how his father could possibly be so stupidly selfish and power hungry. 

“Arthur,” his father called after him. He turned and watched his father shift his gaze to his hands clasped upon his stomach. Arthur was curious in spite of himself, he didn’t think he’d ever seen his father nervous. “Do you -- do you think she’ll ever forgive me?”

And then there was a familiar uncomfortable knot in Arthur’s stomach that he always got when he was with his father. Because as deeply flawed and cruel and _wrong_ as this man was, some small piece of him did actually care about his children. He was just awful at showing it. And some foolish naive part of Arthur couldn’t quite let go of the notion that he was the one who was supposed to help Uther improve.

Arthur weighed his answer carefully. “I think...it’s difficult to forgive someone who hasn’t apologized or even asked for forgiveness.” Because if forgiveness was truly what Uther was after, he was going to need to _earn_ it and it would be Morgana’s decision whether or not she gave him that chance.

“And you?”

Arthur gave a sad smile. “I suppose it’s the same answer.”

Uther nodded like he was going to take Arthur’s words under consideration and went back to reading the paper. Arthur figured that was as close as the man could get to discussing his faults for the time being.)

“Not really,” he admits. Morgana nods and avoids his gaze. He studies her carefully, the red tinge to her eyes, the way her shoulders are hunched in on herself, and Arthur suddenly needs her to know that he isn’t his father. “You’re still my sister,” he says too quickly, the words tumbling over each other. Her gaze flicks up to his with a trace more of the stubborn girl he grew up beside. “We’re still siblings.”

She rolls her eyes and Arthur doesn’t even try to fight his smile. “Yes, that’s how genetics work.” Her face scrunches up. “Oh gods, I’ve just realized this means _Morgause Gorlois_ is my half-sister. I think this is the worst news I’ve gotten yet.”

Arthur smirks. “Worse than when you realized that your actual birthdate meant you were a Scorpio?”

Morgana tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Please, Scorpios are far superior to Aries. We have better anger management skills.”

“But you can hold a grudge like no one else.”

She lets out a quiet laugh. “Been reading _Witch Weekly_?”

“Reading material is rather lacking in this hospital. But,” he says getting back to the point, “you’re still my sister. Even if it turns out that Uther’s not either of our father’s and there isn’t a trace of genetics that match between us. You’re my sister no matter what.”

Morgana smiles. “Thanks, baby brother.”

Arthur scrunches up his face in disgust. “Ew, gross, never say that again.”

Morgana gives him an evil sort of grin. “I am older than you which means I am wiser than you and you can’t talk to me that way.”

“I take it back. I’ve never seen you before in my life and we are of no relation.”

Morgana shakes her head and nods over her shoulder. “Your boyfriend’s awake.”

Arthur’s heart stutters an odd sort of rhythm. “Why didn’t you _lead_ with that?” He barely manages to stop himself from sprinting down the hall. “And I don’t know -- I mean -- we haven’t really talked about _labels_ so --”

Morgana rolls her eyes. “You two are going to be even more annoying as a couple, which, believe me, _none_ of us thought would be possible.” She nods toward Merlin’s door again. “Just go see him.”

He smiles, “thanks Morgana. And I’m here if you ever need to talk or yell at Uther or --”

She smiles big and genuine. “I know.”

Arthur spares her one last smile and takes off down the hall. He throws the door open to a room he has spent the better part of the past two weeks in to see Merlin awake on the bed scowling at the Healer poking him with her wand. She spares him one glance before returning to Merlin. “Oh great, your shadow is back.”

Merlin looks over at him and turns on a smile so blinding Arthur feels like he’s seeing the sun for the first time. He stumbles across the room toward him.

“Are you all right?”

“I’ve been so worried --”

“I remember you leaving but I didn’t know --”

“I would have been here sooner but --”

“And Morgana said you were fine --”

They stare at each other and then burst into laughter. The Healer shakes her head but there’s a slight smile on her face. “You can stay for a few minutes, but then he really needs to rest.” Arthur opens his mouth to protest as he’s been asleep for _days_ but the Healer raises a hand. “He’s already taken the sleeping draught so he’s going to fall asleep anyway but if you do anything to prevent that I will ban you from the entire ward. And even _Wendy_ our Welcome Witch won’t be able to sneak you in.”

Arthur watches her leave and then turns back to Merlin. There’s a lot he wants to say but some things are more pressing than others.

“You lied to me.” It’s been haunting him. The idea that he _left_ , that Merlin could have --

“It wasn’t technically a lie, it was just withholding information…” at the look on Arthur’s face Merlin trails off before rubbing a hand over his eyes and then slumping down in defeat. “You wouldn’t have left if I told you I was going to just do the prophecy all by myself.” Merlin shrugs. “You would have done the same thing if you were me.”

Yeah, he would have, doesn’t mean he likes that _Merlin_ did it. 

“Next time, include me in the dangerous parts of the plan,” he says and Merlin just rolls his eyes at him but the smirk he’s fighting makes Arthur feel like he’s flying. He pulls up the chair to sit by Merlin’s bed and grabs his hand. “I’m really glad you’re ok. If anything had happened --” he cuts himself off and shakes his head, a sharp pain erupting in his chest at the idea that Merlin could have been --

“I’m here,” Merlin says smiling. “What happened after Agravaine’s men took me from Hogsmeade?”

Arthur sighs and recounts the tale. Of gathering the troops (“I didn’t realize I had so many fans.”) and riding out to Avalon Manor (“Mordred flew on a hippogriff?! And I missed it!”) and fighting the shades (“Knew there was a reason we found Excalibur, besides, you know, using it to release the Old Magic.”) When Arthur gets to the part where a dragon dropped onto the house, Merlin’s eyes start drooping.

“Falling asleep mid conversation?” Arthur asks with a grin. “Is my storytelling that awful?”

Merlin pouts and looks so adorable Arthur’s heart squeezes tight. “That evil woman drugged me.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows. “The Healer that saved your life?”

Merlin snickers slightly. “Well when you put it _that_ way.”

“You should go to sleep.”

Merlin scowls at him. “Don’t wanna sleep. Wanna see you.” His words are growing slurred as the potion takes effect.

Arthur tries very hard not to show how pleased that statement makes him. “I’ll be here when you wake up. I’m not going anywhere.”

Merlin gives a dazed sort of smile and then scoots over on his bed and pats the bed next to him. “Sit by me?” He asks with a shy smile and really, how is Arthur supposed to refuse that?

Arthur eases himself into the bed that’s too narrow for two people but Merlin almost immediately snuggles against him the way a cat would, nosing against Arthur’s shoulder until he lifts his arm and Merlin gives a pleased hum as he rests his head against Arthur’s neck, his nose cold against his collar bone. Merlin snakes his arms around Arthur’s torso for good measure.

“Clingy.”

Merlin hums and Arthur can feel his smile against his skin. “So was I your worst first date ever or what?” Merlin asks in a groggy voice.

Arthur presses his lips against the crown of Merlin’s head. “Absolutely dreadful. Worst date I’ve ever been on by a long shot.” Merlin snorts. “We’re going to need a lot of practice to get it right.” Merlin makes a pleased sort of sound and presses a kiss against Arthur’s throat. Arthur grins down at him. “ _Mer_ lin, go to sleep. I promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“And we’ll make-out?”

Arthur laughs and pulls Merlin tight against him, rubbing a hand up and down his arm. “Sure.”

“Fine but I expect to be thoroughly snogged when I wake up.”

\--

Much to Merlin’s annoyance, he is _not_ snogged within an inch of his life when he wakes up. Instead he wakes alone.

Well, not totally alone as his mother is sitting in the same chair as yesterday giving him an unimpressed look.

“Do we need to have ‘the talk’ again?”

Merlin buries his face in his hands. “Oh my gods, please stop. Unless you want me to die of embarrassment.” He peeks through a crack in his fingers to look at his mum.

“Merlin,” his mother says, her eyes wide in mock scandal. “I found a boy in your _bed_.”

“Mum, _please_ ,” he whines.

Hunith gives him a grin. “I like him. He blushed even more than you are right now when I came in and found the two of you cuddling together this morning.” Merlin groans again, blushing even more. “He assured me that nothing untoward happened.”

Merlin snorts. “Did he actually use the word ‘untoward’?”

Hunith smiles wider. “Oh, yes,” she assures him.

Merlin’s grinning so wide it hurts. “What a dork. Can’t believe I fancy him.” He swallows and bites his lip. “Why didn’t you tell me about da or my magic or anything?”

His mother’s eyes fill with tears and she shakes her head. “I am so sorry, Merlin. If I thought for one second that things would turn out this way, I would have done everything differently.” She swallows thickly. “I really thought as long as you didn’t know about it, the prophecy wouldn’t come to pass. I had no idea you were going to develop such powerful magic.” She shakes her head. “I did what I thought was best.”

Merlin picks at his thumb. “It doesn’t feel great to be lied to.”

His mother squeezes his arm. “I know, Merlin. And I am so sorry. We all thought -- well, me and Gaius and your father thought if you didn’t know about the truth behind your magic and Uther kept it a secret from his children...then none of you would need to be a part of the prophecy. Then you would be safe.” 

Merlin bites his lip. “So you didn’t take the Vow?”

She shakes her head. “No, it happened after they tried to fulfill the prophecy the first time. I knew they were going to try and go through it to protect the future of their children. And then when your father came back he couldn’t talk about it anymore and I was able to put enough pieces together to figure out what happened. And that’s when we decided it would be best if you never knew.” She shakes her head. “It was a mistake. And for that I am so very sorry.”

Merlin nods, not quite ready for total forgiveness but he thinks he understands where they were coming from. After all, hadn’t he done the very same thing to Arthur? Lied to him to get him to leave the Manor because all Merlin wanted was for him to be safe. Maybe he understands his mother’s actions better than he originally thought.

He gives her an uncertain look. “Does this mean you can talk about him now?”

She smiles. “Yes, that was another mistake. I thought if you didn’t know anything about him it would help keep the truth a secret. But I would love to tell you more about your father.”

Merlin gives her a tiny smile. “I think I’d like that. What was he like?”

“Grumpy.” A startled laugh bursts out of Merlin before he can stop it and his mother is grinning back at him. “He was a very serious soul. I liked that I was one of the few people he would loosen up around. But you certainly have his determination and stubbornness.”

Merlin smirks. “You’re pretty stubborn yourself.”

His mother raises an eyebrow. “So it seems as if you got a double dose.”

Merlin gives an eye roll and shakes his head. He chews on his lip as he studies his mother. “Was it hard...not talking about him?”

It’s a few moments before his mother answers. “The hardest part…” she swallows thickly, “is that he isn’t here.” And Merlin can’t imagine what it must be like for her. To have lived the past sixteen years without the man she loved to not even be able to talk about it. He always knew his mother was a formidable woman but until this moment, he’s never fully appreciated what it means to have that strength.

Merlin decides to change the subject before his mother gets anymore upset. “When do I get to leave?”

His mother shrugs. “Should be a few days. You have quite a fan club waiting for you in the lobby.”

Merlin smiles. “Yeah?”

“There’s nearly ten people all vying for the right to come visit. One of them tried to bribe Wendy but it didn’t quite work out in his favor. I believe he had a two day ban from the premise.” Merlin snorts. That certainly sounds like Gwaine. “But you will have to give a statement to someone in the Auror’s office. And I imagine you’d like to speak with Geoffrey Monmouth.” Merlin gives a nod as his mother continues. “And then there’s actually a reward the Ministry wants to present you and your friends.”

Merlin feels his eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

His mother nods. “Yes, it seems being pivotal to saving the Minister and returning Old Magic to the world comes with perks.”

Merlin scowls. “I don’t _want_ a reward.”

“It’s a medal actually,” his mother is barely suppressing a smile.

There’s a sinking feeling in Merlin’s stomach. “Oh no.”

“An Order of Merlin --”

“ _Why?_ ”

“First Class.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The penultimate chapter will be up by the end of the week.
> 
> Next Chapter Features: An uncomfortable Geoffrey Monmouth, a guest appearance by nearly all our favorite characters, and Arthur Pendragon trying to talk about his feelings.
> 
> Comments and kudos are the best :D


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to [rainbow_writer](/users/rainbow_writer) for reading this :)

Geoffrey Monmouth has always prided himself in being a very serious man, stoic and stern even in the face of adversity. He takes his appearance as seriously as his job, wearing wizard robes of a deep royal purple, a close trimmed beard, and a pointed wizard’s hat starched to perfection. He is not intimidated easily.

But as the Wizard Attorney stands near the window in a hospital room, a bundle of parchment clutched in his grasp, he feels a bit out of his element.

Three teenagers stare at him. The Pendragon siblings sit in chairs on either side of the Emrys boy in the bed. All of them wear an expression not dissimilar to the one worn by the Fire Crabs that used to climb the trellis on his childhood home when it was time for he and his brother to chase them away. An expression that says “I hope you are ready for a fight.”

Geoffrey clears his throat and sets his shoulders back, gaining some semblance of decorum. “At today’s proceedings --”

Morgana throws out her arms and hits him with a piercing glare. “Geoffrey.” He purses his lips at the use of his first name, as if they are old school chums. “What proceedings? It’s just _us_ in here and I personally think it’s going to be easier for everyone if you just answer our questions rather than read from whatever horribly dull report you’ve written.”

“Mor _gana_ ,” Arthur hisses, though Geoffrey notes he doesn’t actually tell her she’s doing anything wrong.

Geoffrey blinks a few times and then glances down at his paper, trying to regain control of the situation. “Well, your father --”

He sees Merlin and Arthur wince in unison. It appears as though he chose the wrong answer.

Morgana narrows her eyes and he braces himself for her onslaught but Arthur jumps in before she can tear him apart. “Geoffrey,” again with the first name, “you’ve known us since before we were _born_. Can you just make an exception, please. It’s been a rough year.”

There’s more blinking before his shoulders slump in defeat. “Alright, what do you want to know?”

All of them start talking over one another.

“Why did you fuck off and _leave_ when you’re the only person who could have stopped Agravaine --”

“Are we all _really_ reincarnated? I mean it just doesn’t seem all that likely --”

“What the hell happened when my father tried to solve the prophecy last time? Obviously they failed --”

“-- you are literally _an attorney_ , you could have fought the whole Wizard Council document and Uther’s phony will and none of this would have happened!”

“-- we don’t even have any _memories_ of past lives or anything so was Nimueh lying?”

“-- but _how_ did they fail? Did they get close? Were they doomed from the start?”

Geoffrey holds up a hand and they all go silent. 

He sighs and addresses Arthur first. “Your father came to me shortly after Nimueh approached him with news of her Visions. He wanted me to look into any known accounts of Old Magic, to see if her warnings held any merit.”

“And they did,” Morgana says, crossing her arms.

Geoffrey nods at her. “There were stories of course, there are always stories. The difficulty comes in deciding whether or not to believe them. But there was one legend that spoke of prophecy and the return of the ‘days of Camelot.’ It matched what Nimueh described: the birth of two Pendragons,” he pauses and glances between the two Pendragons in question, debating how to phrase the next part, “born of different mothers but the same father.” A nod at Merlin. “It spoke of a child who could channel a power like few before him. And it spoke of an entangled Destiny to bring back the magic that was lost. I told your father if Nimueh was a Seer, and as talented a Seer as her colleagues believed, then there was every chance she was telling the truth.” 

Geoffrey pulls a handkerchief out of his sleeve and dabs at the sweat along his brow before he continues. Why on earth had he chosen to stand before a window? “Uther didn’t want to believe it at first. However,” a nervous flick of his gaze to Morgana, “a few months later Vivienne approached him with news that she was...with child and then a few months after that Igraine got pregnant and...I believe it was all too coincidental for even Uther Pendragon. He didn’t want to risk the lives of his wife or his children or...” he trails off not quite sure how to finish the sentence.

Morgana snorts. “His mistress?”

Geoffrey opens and closes his mouth, not sure whether it is best to agree or disagree with Morgana’s description.

Arthur shifts looking rather annoyed and uncomfortable in his chair. “So after that...he tried to fulfill the prophecy?”

Geoffrey nods, grateful for the shift in conversation. He does not feel it is his duty to atone for the sins of Uther Pendragon. “I cannot speak to his motivations but...I think over time he grew paranoid and feared that Nimueh spoke the truth after all. He took the advice she had given him and assembled his own team. To try and bring back Old Magic so that his children and Balinor Emrys’ son would not be in danger. She told him they would need to free the magic from Avalon Manor and use a potion to access the Old Magic.”

“What was Kilgharrah doing there?” Merlin asks.

Geoffrey rubs his neck. “Again, I cannot speak to motivations but I believe Kilgharrah was raised hearing stories of the days of Old Magic and wished nothing more than to see its return.” Morgana and Merlin share a long look until Merlin shrugs, apparently satisfied with the answer. “And I believe you know Gaius’ involvement.”

Merlin nods. “He was close with my father so if he confided in Gaius, then Gaius would have felt obligated to help anyway he could. He can brew a wicked potion.”

Arthur furrows his brow. “So what happened?”

“I joined them,” Geoffrey says. “We descended through the cellar and into the cavern under the home where Nimueh said she saw the prophecy taking place.” He looks at Merlin. “Your father drank the potion and tried a handful of spells but...nothing really happened.” Merlin nods like this makes sense. Geoffrey sighs. “From there Uther grew panicked about his wife’s life and the lives of his children. And more than that he still had aspirations to be Minister, he worried if this story got out it might ruin his chances. So he had me swear the company to a Vow of Silence so that no one present could speak of the events to anyone or inform the children what fate awaited them.” He lets the words sink in before he addresses Arthur. “Does that answer your question, Mr. Pendragon?”

Arthur works his jaw before saying, “I suppose for the moment.”

With a heavy breath he turns to address Morgana. “As far as your inquiry about my whereabouts, or lack thereof, truthfully I panicked. The moment Uther fell ill I knew it was only a time before someone would seek me out. I know one too many of his secrets. Once I saw Agravaine using the Wizard’s Council doctrine to claim his right to the throne I was worried. I didn’t believe it a coincidence that the prophecy spoke of a king and that was the position Agravaine was claiming. I wrote to Kilgharrah and he assured me he would keep an eye on Nimueh at Hogwarts but it appeared as though she was going about her business as usual. I didn’t realize he’d try to use you three to fulfill the prophecy anyway.”

Morgana raises an eyebrow. “So you were afraid?”

Geoffrey licks his lips. “I -- yes. I was afraid of what they would do to me to get any information. The more Agravaine did the more I knew I should come forward and try to stop him but…” he swallows staring into the blank expression of three teenagers and he feels compelled to defend himself. “I am not a brave sort of person.”

Merlin shakes his head. “Bravery isn’t an absence of fear, it’s acting in spite of it.” He watches as Arthur shoots Merlin a smile.

Geoffrey sighs. “I am trying to do the right thing now,” he confesses.

Morgana shrugs. “I suppose it counts for something that you came around in the end.”

Geoffrey’s not sure what it says about the direction of his life that he’s being chastised by those so young. “Is there anything else? I need to testify before the Wizengamot this afternoon?”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Merlin says. “About the reincarnation.”

Geoffrey shakes his head. “I am not a philosopher.”

Merlin gives an impatient wave of his hand. “What does that mean?”

“It means there is no definitive answer.” Geoffrey wipes off his brow once more. “Wizard and muggle scholars have pondered that question for centuries. Are we souls recycled in time? Do our actions in this life dictate the circumstances of our next? Or is this life the one we get?” Folding his handkerchief, he shakes his head as he tucks it back within his robes. “It’s a question that doesn’t have an answer because it is a matter of belief. Nimueh believed she saw her past life and it was that belief that led her to convince Agravaine he also lived during the days of Camelot and he was also slighted by The Original Merlin. But no one can say if she was right or wrong. It is simply what she put her faith in.” He packs up his parchment and nods at the three people before him. “You can choose whether or not you believe it as well.”

And with that he takes his leave.

\--

Lying around waiting to get released from the hospital is significantly more boring than Merlin thought it would be. Even now that he’s been delivered the week of assignments he missed he’s already completed _all_ of those, re-read _A Brief History of Dragons_ twice, and practiced conjuring butterflies now that the Old Magic is out in the world rather than within him.

He might owe Morgana an apology for calling her dramatic when she spent a few weeks in the Hospital Ward after taking the Old Magic potion.

Easter Holidays ended yesterday so everyone is due back to Hogwarts for classes. Even Kilgharrah got to go back before Merlin and he was briefly a Wizard of Suspicion in the Auror investigation against Agravaine. But _Merlin_ still hasn’t been cleared from the hospital.

It. Is. Awful.

There’s a knock on the door and he looks up from the butterfly flapping its wings on his fingers to Gaius’s face in the door.

“Hullo Uncle Gaius. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for classes?”

Gaius gives a small smile as he shuffles into the room. “I’ve actually cancelled Potions lessons for the day. I imagine the first-years might be weeping with joy.” He wears a sad sort of expression as he looks over Merlin. “I didn’t know if you would ever call me that again. I’m not really your uncle.”

Merlin shrugs. “You’ve never really been my uncle. Never stopped me before.” Merlin goes back to studying the butterfly, the navy spots that bleed into the royal blue color of the wings. “Didn’t know if you’d come visit since you haven’t stopped by.” He doesn’t mean for it to sound so accusatory but he can’t take it back now.

Gaius sighs. “I did not know if my presence was welcome just yet.”

Merlin looks back up at him. “That didn’t stop Kilgharrah.”

Gaius’ lips thin in his usual terse expression and Merlin finds himself smiling in amusement. He has missed Gaius as much as he has missed his mother. “I... _advised_ Kilgharrah against visiting but he is a bit of a stubborn old bastard.” Merlin snorts and Gaius awards him with a quirk of his lips. Merlin would have loved to see how that argument went. “I also spoke with him about his... _actions_ over the past year.” There’s steel, sharp and biting, in Gaius tone that Merlin’s never heard before. He looks angry. “If I had known what he was doing….” he trails off and Merlin’s not sure it’s due to the Vow keeping him quiet or his inability to find the words himself. 

He takes a seat next to Merlin’s bed and gives one of his signature sighs, the heavy one weighed down by all the problems of the world. And this time Merlin hears all the things he can’t say. “I want to apologize to you, Merlin.”

Merlin shakes his head. Before he wanted this, wanted both his mother and Gaius tripping over themselves begging for his forgiveness. But now he doesn’t need it.

“I appreciate it and I mean -- I still don’t _agree_ with your decision or fully understand your reasoning but I don’t want to be angry anymore. I know you did it from a place to look after me.” Merlin shrugs. “So I forgive you.”

Then to Merlin’s horror Gaius’ eyes go wet and he sniffles loudly. Merlin feels his eyes widen. “Oh, Gaius. I didn’t mean to -- did you -- did I say something wrong?”

Gaius shakes his head and pats Merlin’s hand, dabbing at the corners of his eyes. “No, Merlin you are just...you’ve grown into such a fine young man, so much like your father.” He takes out a handkerchief and loudly blows his nose. He gives Merlin a little smile. “What ever happened to the boy who used to dig through the flower beds pretending he was a niffler?”

“He grew up,” Merlin says honestly, feeling like the boy Gaius is describing is another person entirely. Merlin feels rather uncomfortable under Gaius’ praise so he changes the subject. “Do you want a butterfly?” Maybe he didn’t grow up _that_ much.

Gaius gives Merlin a small amused smile. “Did you make that with Old Magic?”

Merlin nods. “I’ve been practicing with Morgana for the last couple months. But it’s different now that it’s not...a part of me. I have to relearn a few things again.”

He passes the butterfly into Gaius’ hand and the older man holds it up to his eye to inspect it more closely. He raises his eyebrow. “It’s quite impressive.” Merlin just shrugs as he’s not sure what to say. “How do you feel without…”

“My wandless magic?” Merlin guesses, not quite comfortable referring to the magic that had slept within him by it’s real name, and Gaius inclines his head ever so slightly. “Dunno yet...I’m still getting used to it. It’s not like it’s _gone_ it’s just...someplace else.”

Gaius hums and goes back to studying the butterfly. “I imagine it will be quite an adjustment.”

That’s an understatement. Now that Merlin knows how to access it and knows it isn’t missing or anything he feels less empty and his wand magic seems fine but sometimes...it had become a bit of a nervous habit to bring it to the surface just to feel the electric sting under his skin. And now he can’t do that. Well, he can, it's just different.

Merlin sighs and pushes out his senses until the gold glow of magic is sparking on his fingertips and a peacefulness descends over him. He supposes if everyone can experience this then it must have been worth it.

“Gaius?” the older man glances at him over the top of the butterfly's wings. “Can you feel the magic?”

Gaius sits back and sighs. “I’m afraid I don’t quite have a natural aptitude like you or your father but now that it’s free...I do believe people will be able to train themselves to harness it. Just as wizards do with wand magic.” He gives Merlin a smile. “Many Magical Creatures are already reporting a change in their magic. There’s been nearly four unicorn sightings in the past week alone and some Dragon Keepers up North have reported the return of wyverns. Even the Centaurs have said the stars have revealed new prophecies --”

“Think I’ve had enough of prophecies for life,” Merlin grumbles.

“I reckon I’ll have to agree with you, my dear boy.” Gaius leans forward with a slightly apprehensive expression. “Is there anything else you’d be willing to show me?”

Merlin grins as he grabs the book of magic from the table beside his bed and starts flipping through the pages.

\--

It’s a perfect sort of spring day. The sun beaming down, skies completely clear and blue, temperatures finally approaching something that might be considered comfortable.

Arthur is pacing up and down the steps of the castle, ignoring the raised eyebrows from Morgana, the smirks from his dorm mates, and the smiles everyone else wasn’t even trying to hide.

“Shut up,” he snarls at Gwaine.

Gwaine holds up his arms in offense. “I didn’t even _say_ anything.”

Will snickers. “Someone’s worried his boyfriend got tired of him in the two minutes they’ve been apart,” he mocks. Mordred sharply elbows him in the side.

Arthur ignores Will’s taunt and let’s out a large breath of air as he addresses Gwaine. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

Gwaine accepts his apology and Morgana just shakes her head at him. “Arthur, what are you so nervous about?”

He doesn’t know. They’ve all been back at school for a few days now but Merlin wasn’t cleared to leave the hospital until today. Which means it’s been _five whole days_ since he last saw him. Arthur would have much rather been the only member of Merlin’s welcome party but he supposes he couldn’t fault everyone else as he had been the only one allowed to spend any sort of significant period of time with Merlin.

Arthur has been a bit of a mess. Throwing himself into his schoolwork more diligently than he has all year, running calculations to figure out how many points they would need to score against Hufflepuff in the Quidditch match in a few weeks to win the Quidditch Cup (it’s over 2,000 so chances look pretty slim for a Gryffindor victory this year), rearranging the evil lair over a dozen times until Morgana threatened to have Lance hit him with his now famous boils hex. Arthur has since settled for pacing.

Being idle makes him think about his nerves.

Nerves that stem around the fact that he and Merlin were sort of becoming _something_ and then the world fell apart which put a bit of a pause on things and then at St. Mungo’s they were just _together_ but he doesn’t know if it’s going to be the same way now that they’re back at school. He doesn’t _really_ know where they stand with one another. They haven’t talked about it and if history is anything to go by, he is not great at talking about things.

“Merlin!” Gwen shouts, jumping off the stairs and running down the path.

Arthur sucks in a breath and turns on the top stair to see Merlin wrapping his arms around Gwen with a big smile. Gwaine comes up behind Merlin and ruffles his hair and Merlin bats his hands away with an annoyed scowl. And then Will and Mordred are in front of him and it looks like they might be yelling at him if Merlin’s dramatic flailing is anything to go by.

There’s an uncomfortable sort of moment where Arthur doesn’t know what to do until Lance hits him in the shoulder. “Don’t be an idiot, Arthur.”

Well, all right then.

Arthur follows Lance down the stairs. Merlin smiles at Lance but the way his smile widens when he sees Arthur settles all his nerves. Maybe he is sort of an idiot.

“Hi,” Merlin says.

“Hi.”

“Did you miss me?” Merlin asks with a huge grin, rocking back and forth on his heels like he already knows the answer. And he probably does as the fourth time Arthur transfigured all the furniture in the evil lair to red, Morgana had told him she’d be writing to Merlin.

Arthur ducks his head. “Probably too much.”

Merlin’s sort of glowing, from the sun and his wide smile with his dimples and teeth out and something in Arthur's chest catches. “I reckon that works out since I missed you too.” And then there’s the same easiness there always is with Merlin, where everything just makes sense. Arthur takes a step closer and Merlin does too and it’s _almost_ close enough. Arthur catches himself staring at Merlin’s mouth and Merlin only quirks an eyebrow in response. “Are you really going to kiss me in front of all these people?”

It feels like a challenge. Arthur narrows his eyes. “Immediately and without hesitation, Emrys.” Merlin laughs as Arthur grabs a handful of his shirt and presses their lips together to shut him right up.

They both do their best to ignore the gagging and wolf whistles from their absolutely dreadful friends.

\--

You’d think after nearly dying in a house explosion, freeing Old Magic, and saving the world, teachers might be just a touch sympathetic. But Hogwarts evidently cares nought for its students and things return to normal in record time. Though Morgana’s schedule does have one vacancy as they have yet to find a replacement teacher for Ancient Prophecies.

The story broke all over the _Prophet_. Morgause was publishing more articles than ever. The reporter had gone so far as to reach out to all of the students involved for a _private interview_ and (after much berating of Gwaine by everyone) they all declined. They had more than enough attention when they returned to school, they didn’t need a special interview to put them even more in the spotlight.

(The piece about Uther’s rather insidious decisions didn’t quite make it into the official story. As far as the Wizarding World is aware, Nimueh and Agravaine found out about the prophecy and wanted to use Merlin to solve it and the story ends there. Uther Pendragon’s sins remain a secret for a while longer.

Morgana also hasn’t told Morguase they are sisters or reached out to her birth mother...it’s weird. It’s going to probably take a lot of therapy to sort through her feelings and decide what she wants to do with them.)

But the fanfare died down after Agravaine’s trial began and they are all just back to being students. And now she needs to write four separate essays before the end of the week. She wishes her brief celebrity status had come with a few perks.

Morgana climbs the stairs up to their not-so-evil lair, the evening paper tucked beneath her arm, and takes in the room with a small smile. Merlin and Arthur appear to be absent this evening and thank the gods for that as she is really very happy they’ve sorted their feelings but it is sort of sickeningly sweet to watch the two of them together.

On the far wall Freya and Mordred sit close together studying Herbology. Well, she assumes they are studying Herbology. They keep poking a plant in front of them with their wands and watching it catch fire and then jotting things down on a piece of parchment. Though it would not be terribly out of character for this to just be something they are doing for fun.

Gwaine, Elyan, and Percival are playing Exploding Snap in front of the window. A game which now has an additional component of danger seeing as if any of the cards get too close to the glass and erupt, the window is certainly going to shatter and rain glass shards down on all of them.

She heads across the room to sit by Gwen who is staring at the boys with a worried sort of expression. “I told them to stop,” Gwen says as a greeting.

Morgana grins. “I’m sure. But they are stupid enough to keep going until one of them falls out the window.” She shakes her head. “That wasn’t a fair assessment. They are stupid enough to keep going until _all_ of them have fallen out the window.”

“We can hear you!” Gwaine yells.

“That’s the point!”

He flashes her a rude gesture and gets back to the game. Morgana rolls her eyes and takes a seat by Gwen. “Why did we invite everyone into our sanctuary again?”

“Because we all bonded on a life changing field trip and forged friendships for life,” Gwen says in a very matter of fact tone. “And it was the nice thing to do.”

“Damn, that’s right. I would have joined forces with the dark side if I knew this was the end result.” Gwen narrows her eyes. Morgana scrunches up her face. “Too soon?” she asks.

(Morgana wasn’t the one who told Gwen what happened, it was probably Gwaine. Though how he found out before all their other friends, Morgana isn’t sure. Morgana also isn’t sure how she feels about the fact that she now refers to _Gwaine_ as a friend. 

But when she first saw Gwen after everything, Gwen had thrown her arms around her and sobbed into her shoulder saying she was so proud of her.

It was harder than it should have been for Morgana not to cry.)

Gwen gives a nervous glance at the paper Morgana sets on the table. “Have they found her?” Morgana shakes her head and Gwen grimaces before giving her an encouraging smile. “They will.” Always the optimist, her Guinevere.

Morgana nods but she’s not too sure. Nimueh is clever and cunning. And more than that, she’s adept at _waiting_. And now that Old Magic is free, Old Magic that Morgana knows Nimueh can use _well_ , even if she didn’t take it all for herself….it doesn’t bode well in Morgana’s opinion. But thankfully it’s not really her job to worry about things like that anymore.

“Morgana!” Mordred calls, startling her out of her musings as he makes his way over to them. “I have a question for you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Alright? What is it?” She’s known Mordred since first year and he’s not really one to be hesitant about asking things. He’s too curious for his own good.

“You and Merlin are practicing Old Magic, right?” She nods. 

They were keeping up their lessons, twice a week, though they were certainly very different now as she could access the magic too. Merlin is still far more talented than she is but she’s made peace with that. She doesn’t need to compare herself to anyone else to know her worth, not anymore.

(At the last lesson, Merlin had given her back the book on Old Magic.

She gave him a long look. “But, it’s _yours_. M as in Merlin the Great Warlock.”

Merlin rolled his eyes as he always did when she insinuated that he was The Merlin. “Or it could be _yours_. M as in Morgan le Fay.” She opened and closed her mouth, unable to come up with a witty comment. That had honestly never occurred to her. Merlin shook his head. “I think it means more to you, this book. And you’re the one who does more work for these lessons so it just makes sense.” He gave her a grin. “Who cares who M was. _Now_ it’s Morgana Pendragon.”

Once again, it was very hard not to cry. She is getting far too sentimental these days.)

Mordred wrings his hands together. “Do you think I could join?”

Morgana blinks at him. “You want to learn how to use Old Magic?”

Mordred nods. “I grew up in a village with wizards who could use a bit of it, they called it devil’s magic, but instead of it being really taboo like it was in certain areas everyone was just really comfortable with it. And I dunno, it would just be nice to learn something new and kind of show off when I go home,” he adds with a small grin.

Morgana blinks some more, not quite understanding what he’s getting at. “And you want... _me_...to teach you?”

“Well, yeah,” he says like it should be obvious. “I mean, you taught Merlin and then you both _saved_ the world. You had to do something right.”

She looks to Gwen for support but Gwen is nodding along with what Mordred is saying. “It’s a good idea, Morgana. I think I’d like to learn too, _if you’re willing_ ,” she adds hastily.

“Me too!” Freya calls from the on-fire plant. “I’ve heard there’s Old Magic spells that will grow all sorts of ancient plants and help you talk to Magical Creatures.” She yelps as the fire surges sharper and quickly douses it with her wand.

“Hey!” Gwaine says in the middle of pulling an Exploding Snap card from the tower, “if you’re teaching them Old Magic then I want to learn too! Now that we don’t have the club, I need something else to distract me from my schoolwork.”

“That would be pretty wicked,” Elyan adds.

Percival gives her a small smile. “I wouldn’t mind joining if there’s room.”

Morgana shakes her head a few times, feeling out of sorts with what everyone is saying. “You all know who you are talking to, right?” she asks because clearly they have forgotten. “I can’t transfigure a _mouse_ into a teacup, I never managed to dispel a Boggart, and it took me all of second year to master _Expelliarmus_. I’m not some kind of magical prodigy, that’s Merlin.”

Gwen hits her arm affectionately. “Morgana, we don’t want a magical prodigy. Not that we don’t love Merlin but who better to teach us then someone knows all the challenges? And will be able to relate to people who might struggle with it? And not only are you adept at Old Magic but you are also something of an expert. You know more than anyone at this school, you can’t deny it.”

She’s running out of arguments. “I tried to tutor for Astronomy and I made my student _cry_.”

Mordred scoffs. “Will was just being a big baby, you weren’t even that mean to him.”

She crosses her arms as she looks at everyone in the room. “You’re all serious?”

They all nod and voice their assent. “When can we start?” Mordred asks.

Morgana shakes her head, a bit at a loss. “I suppose right now?”

Everyone scrambles over to sit at their table and with a tentative smile, she ignites the candle before her with a flash of her eyes. The chorus of “whoops” that follow the act has her grinning in spite of herself.

\--

“I have something I want to tell you.”

Merlin looks up at him from the Charms textbook with wide eyes. They’re studying in Arthur’s common room, sitting in a corner as far from everyone else as they could manage, right beside a window because if they didn’t Merlin would say _what’s the point of being here instead of my dorm if I don’t even get to distract myself by looking out the window_ and Arthur would have to fumble for excuses so he didn’t confess that there was less chance of Morgana embarrassing him here. He has been avoiding the lair as Morgana’s Magic Lessons made her presence there almost constant.

“Is something wrong?” Merlin asks with fear in his voice.

Arthur’s heart stops. “What? No, of course not. Do you think something’s wrong?”

“Oh. No.” Merlin relaxes into the couch, closing his book and turning to face Arthur. “Sorry I just feel like that’s what people always say in movies when they have something terrible to say. What did you want to talk about?”

Arthur licks his lips, suddenly nervous. Well, that’s not true, he’s been nervous but it’s _important_ so he feels like he has to say it. He’s tried bringing it up a few times but each time he got too anxious and ended up just snogging Merlin instead. 

(It was not the worst way to spend an afternoon.)

“I just had some thoughts about the whole reincarnation-destiny...thing.”

Merlin’s face grows concerned. “Arthur, we’ve talked about this. I know you don’t really like the idea of fate and I don’t really think it’s real anyway. I know Morgana believes in it but even she thinks it doesn’t matter since it doesn’t really impact your life at all unless you want it to --”

Arthur puts a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “I know, I _know_. I just want you to know that even it’s -- I --” Arthur rubs a hand over his face. Why are feelings so _hard_? He takes a deep breath and looks into Merlin’s eyes, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Maybe we are these famous figures from history who have known each other before so we’re destined to be in each other’s lives.” He blushes as he says it but Merlin gives him a small encouraging smile. “But -- like -- none of that matters. Because even if we didn’t have a shared history and this was the first time I met you, I’d still _choose_ you. I just -- I want to make it clear that I’m not with you because of destiny or fate or whatever. I’m with you because I _want_ to be. And --”

Before he can bring up the real crux of his little speech, Merlin has launched himself across the space between them and is snogging Arthur clean into the couch, derailing all of Arthur’s thoughts. Merlin’s mouth is insistent against his own, sucking at his bottom lip until Arthur’s mouth opens and then Merlin climbs more on top of him and licks his way inside. And all Arthur can do is snake his hands into Merlin’s hair and try to make sure he doesn’t ever stop.

When all of Arthur’s blood has thoroughly left his brain, Merlin leans back, his hair wild, cheeks flushed, lips red, wearing a lopsided grin. He sits back down and clears his throat. “Sorry, you were saying?” he asks, motioning for Arthur to go on.

Arthur shakes his head, lips tingling and thoughts scattered. “I genuinely don’t remember. Where on earth did that come from? Not that I’m complaining, but I believe you’ve given me a _dozen_ lectures about PDA.”

Merlin just grins wider. “That was maybe the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me so I sort of lost control of myself. Who would have thought, the fearsome Arthur Pendragon is a hopeless romantic.”

Arthur flushes, still a little flustered from Merlin’s unexpected aggressive kissing. “I am not a romantic!”

Merlin’s still grinning as he settles back against the couch. “Are you sure? That was like _romantic movie_ levels of sappiness. And I would know, Gwen has shown me all the good ones.” And then Merlin blushes which is a rather refreshing change of pace given the trajectory of the conversation. “But -- I mean -- it’s the same with me. I’d want to be with you no matter the circumstances.”

Arthur swallows, throat suddenly thick but he has to say this next part too. “So -- do you -- are we...boyfriends?” His voice goes just a little high-pitched on the last word.

Merlin’s got that stupid michevious smirk that Arthur always wants to kiss right off his face. “Were we not already boyfriends?”

Arthur huffs in annoyance. “Well I don’t know we’ve never _said it_ and Morgana keeps going on about the importance of communication and the fact that I’m emotionally constipated --”

Merlin shuts him up with another kiss, this one chaste, just the press of his lips against Arthur’s. “Yes,” he whispers against Arthur’s mouth. “I’ll be your boyfriend.” There’s a feeling like sunlight pouring through his veins as Arthur smiles against Merlin’s mouth and Merlin starts smiling too. 

And before he can come up with anything eloquent to say in response or maybe they should just stop talking entirely as Merlin’s feelings about PDA have miraculously loosened, several someones approach their couch effectively killing the moment. Arthur spares his dorm mates and Morgana and Gwen a brief glare. If he wanted their company they would be up in the evil lair. Merlin gives him a smirk as he leans back like he knows exactly what Arthur is thinking.

“Well gang,” Gwaine says as he throws himself on the couch beside them. “We did it.” Gwaine sighs. “What a year, huh?”

“Gwaine, it’s April,” Lance says, narrowing his eyes while taking an armchair nearby. “We still have another full term.”

Gwaine rolls his eyes. “I know but it makes a better story if this took place over the course of a _school year_. You know, the big exciting battle right after final exams. All the action ending at the same time. It’s a more satisfying conclusion.”

Merlin snorts. “Well I’m glad it didn’t. I still need to get better marks than Arthur. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

Arthur scoffs and hits his shoulder into Merlin’s. “Please, this year I’m going to have you beat.”

Merlin leans toward him, eyes dancing with mischief. “You sure about that, Pendragon?” A challenge.

Arthur leans toward him with a smirk. “Fairly certain.”

Merlin quirks a brow. “Well, I’d love to see you try.”

“You’ll see more than --”

Leon clears his throat loudly and looks around the group. “They remember that we’re all here, right? And they are sitting in the _common_ room?” Merlin lets out a peal of laughter that Arthur can’t help but grin at.

Morgana sighs from her seat across from them. “It’s going to be absolutely _grotesque_ watching the two of you together.” Gwen nudges her with her elbow and whispers, “be nice.”

“I don’t know,” Gwaine says, “I’m pretty entertained.”

Arthur leans around Merlin to glare at Gwaine. “You are _disgusting_.” Gwaine smiles like it’s a compliment.

“So what next?” Elyan asks. “You all formed a secret club, burnt down a historic home...twice, blackmailed a reporter, found the missing sword Excalibur, and defeated a super evil villain. What absolutely mental thing are you taking on next?”

Merlin shakes his head as he settles into Arthur’s side, grabbing his hand in his own. “I just told you, I’m going to get better marks than my boyfriend.”

There’s a series of groans around them before Gwaine starts telling a story about a hidden chamber beneath the school that houses a fearsome beast, but Arthur can’t quite stop smiling as he stares at Merlin’s hand in his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The last chapter will be up soon!
> 
> The Last Chapter Features: A happy ending :)
> 
> Comments and kudos are amazing :D


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the thank yous to [rainbow_writer](/users/rainbow_writer) for reading this and offering advice and encouragement :)

_Two Months Later_

It’s late, the night before the last day of exams. The evil lair is lit by a sea of candles around them (ignited with a swift and silent flash of golden eyes), the furniture a series of rainbow shades as there is a small sort of silent war going on between the Evil Knights trying to dye all the chairs the color of their own House (judging by the amount of yellow and black bumblebee stripes, Gwen and Pervical are leading quite the offense), and Merlin is doing his very best not to laugh at Arthur’s distress.

But in Merlin’s defense, Arthur is being _really_ dramatic.

“I’m not going to be able to cast a corporeal patronus or even a normal patronus and I am going to _fail_ Defense Against the Dark Arts and then I will be behind for seventh year and I will never pass my NEWT exams so I won’t be able to become an Auror and then I’m going to have to get a job in the muggle world and will be mocked mercilessly for not understanding how electricity works!” Arthur grabs his hair and tugs on it, making it stick up in adorable little spikes on either side.

Merlin raises his eyebrows from his seat before the window, DADA book open on his lap, watching as Arthur paces the length of the room. “I really don’t think muggles understand how electricity works either,” Merlin says, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice.

Arthur shoots him a glare and Merlin rolls his eyes. “And,” he adds before Arthur can work himself up to another tirade, “Potter isn’t going to fail you just because you can’t cast one spell.” Arthur crosses his arms and pouts and it looks so stupidly endearing it takes all of Merlin’s willpower not to cross the room and kiss it away.

They had made a deal after Arthur had... _distracted_ Merlin one too many times when they were studying that they weren’t permitted to snog during study sessions. 

And Merlin needs to take his study sessions very seriously as he is finding that wand magic is slightly more difficult when he doesn’t have wandless magic just accidently filling in any gaps in his spellwork. He’s had to work extra hard to make sure he perfects all his spells. Not to mention that the Old Magic is also more difficult to cast now that it doesn’t instinctively act on Merlin’s behalf since it isn’t privy to his deepest thoughts and desires and Merlin needs to give it more guidance. Merlin’s spent a great number of hours practicing magic these past two months.

Despite all of that, Merlin still fully intends to best Arthur in grades again. The arrogant prat does _not_ need anything else to inflate his ego. Plus, even though he might be dating Arthur Pendragon, it is still very fun to annoy him and rile him up.

So they made a rule to only _study_ during study sessions.

(Technically _Leon_ had suggested the idea once when they were studying and sort of forgot he was there.

It was not one of Merlin’s proudest moments.)

Merlin waves his hand before him again. “What memory are you thinking of?”

Arthur blushes and Merlin grins wider. “Is it me?” he asks with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Shut up,” Arthur says with no heat. “That’s probably the reason the spell isn’t working. You are somehow messing it up just by being in my thoughts, prattling away and being a general nuisance.”

Merlin stands up in mock outrage, slamming the book down on the vacated seat. “Excuse you, that doesn’t seem to be a problem for me.” He points his wand right at Arthur and thinks of the ridiculously noble person in front of him (about the way Arthur says his name with far too much emphasis on the first syllable, and the way Arthur waits for him outside the Slytherin dorm each and every morning so they can walk to breakfast together, and the way Arthur will stare at him when he’s practicing Old Magic and when Merlin catches him staring he just gives Merlin a crooked sort of grin that makes his stomach flip) and yells, “ _Expecto Patronum_!” 

In a _whoosh_ of air a small white dragon roughly the size of his cat Aithusa bursts from the end of his wand and streams across the room, gliding through the air in a bundle of mist and magic looking completely ethereal. It soars straight across the tower until it connects with Arthur and wraps itself around his shoulders. The Patronus dragon seems to sigh and breathe out small wispy gusts of steam.

Arthur narrows his eyes but his lips twitch in amusement. “Show off.”

Merlin grins and walks around Arthur to inspect his handiwork. “You are over here saying _I_ make your spells worse, meanwhile I’ve cast the most impressive Patronus of my career just by thinking about how much I love --”

He chokes on the last word and feels his eyes widen in horror. The dragon vanishes in a gust of mist and Arthur turns to look at him with eyes probably wider than Merlin’s. His mouth is completely agape in shock.

Oops, he hadn’t meant to say _that_.

Merlin licks his lips and blinks one too many times. Too late to take it back now. “It’s not -- I’m sorry if that’s weird -- or like too much, too soon? -- but, I mean, I _was_ going to die for you so -- and I know we’re like _really_ young and I’ve never actually _been_ in love before --” he wants to stop talking but he _can’t_ and the whole time Arthur is just staring at him with an expression like he’s been Stunned, “but, I mean, I’ve never felt this way about _anyone_ \-- and I don’t, like, expect anything back -- and if you want we can just pretend I didn’t say _anything_ and --”

Arthur smiles something so small and soft that Merlin’s mouth blessedly snaps shut. “Me too,” Arthur says.

Merlin swallows, nerves creeping up his spine. “What?” he squeaks.

Arthur “I Hate Emotions” Pendragon shrugs and says, “I love you too,” like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Merlin can feel his face nearly splitting from how wide he is smiling. Then he crosses his arms and grouses, “really wish I could kiss you right now.”

Arthur gives him a smirk and raises a cocky eyebrow. “Bet you regret making that rule now, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he grudgingly admits as he knows Arthur is going to be horribly smug about it. “But if my grades took a sudden turn for the worse I think my mother would give us both a long lecture about how disappointed she is and the importance of being studious and you probably wouldn’t be allowed to visit this summer.”

Arthur just keeps smirking, looking far too pleased that Merlin admitted he was right. “Your mother _adores_ me.”

Merlin gives as dramatic an eye roll as he can muster as Arthur’s smugness is approaching dangerous levels.

“Fine, then she’d just give _me_ the lectures and I’m really not keen to sit through them.” Merlin sighs and looks down at his watch. A watch with a recently removed tracking charm as even though it had come in handy, it was _really_ quite the invasion of privacy. “Come on, sunrise is in three hours. Let’s get you an “O” in Defense Against the Dark Arts.” Then he shoots him a grin. “I’d hate to do better than you just because you are experiencing some performance issues.”

Arthur narrows his eyes and throws a jinx at Merlin which he counters with a laugh and a shield. Then they are chasing each other around the room, ducking behind the hideous furniture in a pathetic imitation of an actual duel as it’s hard to cast the spells when he’s laughing so much. And then they end up breaking their studying rule for quite a long time.

But in Merlin’s opinion it is completely worth it, even if his boyfriend is going to be a smug prat about it.

\--

The office is vacant, cleared and empty for several months. It was hollowed out before the students had returned from Easter Holidays. Only a wooden post that served as a crow’s perch stands in the corner though it is now devoid of the crow.

Morgana chews on her lip as she looks into the room. There’s a restlessness in her that she can’t seem to shake.

She thought perhaps it was all the studying she’s been doing, the late nights and increased caffeine doses and general lack of sleep. But all of her exams are over having just completed Muggle Studies and yet the restlessness remains. 

When they left the room Gwen had bumped into her shoulder with a smirk. “Still think we should sign up next year?”

Morgana nodded. “Absolutely. I think we get to do muggle _baking_.”

Gwen gave a chiming laugh that Morgana couldn’t help but smile at. She followed her best friend to the end of the hall lost in her own thoughts.

“Do you need a minute alone?” Gwen asked. “Before the Feast?”

Morgana smiled. Gwen still seems to know her better than anyone else. She’s looking forward to next year when she will not need to keep dozens of secrets from her and they can actually enjoy a year together.

Morgana nodded and Gwen gave her hand a squeeze before she set off to her own Common Room. Morgana started wandering the halls until she ended up passing a portrait of a slightly foolish knight and staring into this empty office.

Morgana doesn’t fully cross the threshold, just stands and stares.

The restless feeling grows stronger.

She should hate her more, Morgana thinks. She definitely shouldn’t miss her. Though she supposes she doesn’t miss the person she _actually_ was, a lying misguided sorceress. But she does miss the woman she pretended to be, one who was always so incredibly supportive of Morgana, one who believed in her when it felt like no one else did, one who made her realize she could be just as important with the skills she had.

Fortunately she has other people supporting her now. 

And being good at a new branch of magic certainly doesn’t hurt either.

It’s still a bit surreal to her that she’s _good_ at Old Magic, truly and genuinely talented. Or at least good enough to try and fumble her way through teaching it to her friends in their evil lair. A group that has swollen to include everyone who helped them on their rescue mission, as well as Elena and Mithian, and even some of the younger students asked if they could join and Morgana didn’t quite know how to say “no.”

Not everyone has been able to access it, not yet. But she thinks in time they all will.

She’s not the best, not by a long shot. Merlin is obviously still this incredibly talented sorcerer mastering the spells before the rest of them, calling on the magic easily, the world bending to his every whim. The magic sits on him like a second skin, the gold in his eyes nearly as natural as their normal blue, the sparks at his fingertips a near constant presence. He has a bond with the magic that she’ll never have, that no one else will probably ever have again.

And Freya and Mordred have such an aptitude for certain spells, particularly those dealing with nature, sometimes it’s easy to forget they haven’t been studying this forever. They have promised to use their powers for good after trying to nurse a plant back to health in Greenhouse 4 and accidently unleashing a Giant Beanstalk. (Gwaine and Will both attempted to scale the beanstalk, separately and then together. They still have not served all of their detentions and they will be extending into seventh year.) 

But Morgana is just as good as Freya and Mordred in all the other spells and _that_ feels pretty amazing. 

And she’s still the best Seer on this side of the world, not that she’s bragging.

Yet still...she’s restless. Even with learning to teach and master Old Magic and Agravaine behind bars (there may or may not have been a party thrown in the Slytherin dormitory to celebrate the sentencing) and all the other distractions that go along with being a student, she’s not sure she’ll feel really at peace until they find Nimueh. 

But Morgana doesn’t think they will ever find Nimueh, not unless she really wants to be found.

And if she does want to be found...it would only be because she had a reason _why_.

There’s a shuffle in the hall behind her and a voice says, “Pardon me, I didn’t realize --” she turns to face a man she’s done her best to avoid the past few weeks and he trails off as he catches sight of her face.

“Professor Kilgharrah.”

He nods. “Miss. Pendragon.”

She steps out of the doorway to allow him entrance. It’s odd that Kilgharrah is still at the school. She doesn’t understand how Arthur and Merlin still sit in class with him. He wasn’t technically a “bad guy” trying to overthrow the Ministry or claim Old Magic for himself but he certainly isn’t a good person either. Manipulating teenagers so he got what he wanted, what he thought was best for the world, without giving them the full story.

(When she loudly denounced how irresponsible it was that Hogwarts had let him return it was Lance who gave her arm a pat and said, “I’m fairly certain they hired Voldemort to teach here several times so the bar for becoming a professor is rather low.”

The only silver lining is that if rumors are to be believed, McGonagall insisted that he retire at the end of the year. So she won’t have to see him for too much longer.)

It’s complicated. And she’s given it a lot of thought and she honestly doesn’t know what she would have done in his position. She likes to think she would have done better but hopefully she’ll never be presented with such a scenario to find out if that is true.

He nods as he passes her. “I’m just coming to collect the crow’s perch for Hagrid as he’s inherited the wretched beast.” She gives a small smile in spite of herself. “It was trained to alert wizards of meetings but Hagrid refuses to ‘put it to work’ as he says so it is acting out in his hut.” Kilgharrah taps the post once and Morgana watches as it shrinks to the size of a quill. The man is certainly a talented wizard in Transfiguration, she had to give him that. He places it in his pocket. “We’re hoping if it has something familiar it might settle into its new home. Well, Hagrid is hoping that. I think we’ll probably need to give it to someone who might actually give it something to do.”

He studies her for several moments before he nods and says, “have an excellent summer, Miss. Pendragon.”

When he’s nearly down the hall her restlessness and curiosity get the best of her. “Professor?” He turns and she finally asks a question that’s been itching at her for weeks. “Why...why did you give the spell to me? The spell to animate paintings at the beginning of the year and then again with the clue about talking to the Centaurs. You told Sir Cadogan because you knew I was passing messages through him.” She swallows. “Why didn’t you show it to Arthur or Merlin when you knew Nimueh was hoping I would work on her side?”

Kilgharrah’s face, old and lined by Time, changes just slightly in something that might be a smile. “Because I had faith in you, Morgana. Just as I did Arthur and Merlin.”

There’s a stillness in her bones at his words. Maybe she doesn’t really need to forgive this man or Nimueh or her father or anyone else who has wronged her to find peace. Maybe it’s enough to just accept that there are certain actions people will take that she will never understand and it isn’t worth her time to try.

She gives him a nod. “I hope you enjoy your summer as well, professor.” She’s distantly surprised to find she means it.

He smiles again as he turns and leaves Morgana alone in the hall. She spares one last look at the office before she shuts the door with a click and sets out to find her friends.

\--

Arthur lays in the grass beside the lake, eyes closed against the shining sun, arms behind his head and gives a content sigh. What was (hopefully) the strangest school year of his life is nearly at its close. Summer is going to be marginally uncomfortable, spending it with their father in his townhome near Ministry Headquarters while the man finishes recovering from his various assassination attempts and argues with the Ministry and tries to fight the shifting of power.

Arthur is just a bit excited to have a front seat to Wizarding History being made even if his father is going to be very cross about it. Arthur is certainly ready for a more progressive and modern government. He’s already purchased a “Vote for Granger” pin he intends to wear at all times when in the presence of his father if only to see the man’s eye twitch in annoyance.

Morgana won’t be joining them, not at first at least. She’ll be spending the beginning of summer with Gwen. Arthur doesn’t blame her. In time she might want to reach out and forge a relationship with Uther again but Arthur understands why it probably won’t happen anytime soon. If he didn’t have his own questions he was going to make his father finally answer, he probably wouldn’t be spending the holiday with the man either.

And he doesn’t plan on staying long. He’s received a rather tempting invitation to stay in one of the finest inns Hogmeade has to offer for the last month of summer just before heading back for his final year of school.

The person who extended this invitation blocks his light.

“Brooding on the very last night? It’s certainly in character but I thought you ran out of things to pout about.” Merlin moves closer so he’s standing right at Arthur’s feet, toeing at the heel of his shoe. “Is this about the House Cup? Didn’t we agree Ravenclaw deserved the victory seeing as Mithian caught the snitch in all three of her matches and I look so fetching in Ravenclaw blue?”

With his eyes still closed, he presses his lips together so he doesn’t smirk. Merlin _does_ look really good in blue.

“Or is this about the DADA final? I’d hate to beat you on a technicality, it would make victory so much less sweet.”

Arthur kicks out his foot and locks it around Merlin’s heel. Merlin squawks and lands with an undignified heap on top of him. With a quick roll Arthur has him pinned beneath him, knees bracketing Merlin’s hips down on his elbows so he can smirk right in Merlin’s face.

Merlin’s mouth is dropped open in offense as he glares up at Arthur, looking adorably angry. “Rude.”

Arthur merely grins in response. “Well, I learned from the best.”

Merlin narrows his eyes and the slight spark of static electricity between them is the only warning Arthur gets before Merlin’s eyes flash gold and Arthur hits the ground with a thud an arm’s length away.

He lets out an involuntary, “oof.”

Merlin crawls over to him wearing a sheepish expression. “Oops. Didn’t mean to throw you quite that far.” He runs an affectionate hand through Arthur’s hair and Arthur knows his glare is slightly undermined by his too fond smile. It’s hard to be properly annoyed at Merlin these days.

“Still getting used to accessing Old Magic?” he asks.

Merlin plops down on the ground next to him. “It’s still very... _eager_ to do what I want.” He turns over in the grass so his face is right next to Arthur’s, both of them on their sides facing one another. “Morgana thinks they're going to hire an Old Magic professor for next year, to replace the Ancient Prophecies class. So maybe that will help.” 

“Do you miss it?” Arthur asks. He attends Morgana’s magic lessons with all their friends but he’s never been able to feel it himself. Not like he can when Merlin uses it. Though there have been a few times when he’s tripped on a stair or nearly missed catching the Quaffle and a sudden breeze has picked up to keep him righted or pushed the Quaffle into his hands. And it always carries the faint tang of honey and ozone.

“Sometimes.” Merlin licks his lips and his eyes go far away. “It was this thing that was a part of me but...it wasn’t really? I was just keeping it safe.” Merlin closes his eyes and there’s that feeling again of static electricity that Arthur knows means he’s accessing the magic. “And it helps that it’s still there just where it’s supposed to be. And anyone else can try and get it too.” Merlin opens his eyes just as they are fading from gold to blue. He gives Arthur a mischievous sort of grin. “If nothing else I’m glad I no longer make swarms of butterflies appear just because a handsome boy is talking to me.” 

Arthur feels the corner of his mouth tilt up on its own accord. “That does sound pretty embarrassing.”

“You’ve no idea. The boy wasn’t even _that_ handsome.” Arthur swats him on his chest and Merlin snickers to himself.

The breeze picks up and tousles Merlin’s hair, blowing it right over his forehead and Arthur’s heart gives a familiar sort of tug as he leans forward to press his lips against Merlin’s. 

There’s the same electric singing in his veins that he always gets when he’s kissing Merlin. And Merlin hums against his mouth as he moves his lips so slowly against Arthur’s, trading lazy and slow kisses in the setting sun, making Arthur feel like he’s floating. His pulse picks up when Merlin scoots closer. So Arthur shifts closer too and runs his tongue over Merlin’s bottom lip before catching it between his teeth. The noise Merlin makes turns Arthur’s blood to fire in his veins.

From a distance someone yells, “get a room!”

They break apart and Merlin turns to yell a string of insults at Will who just flashes an evil grin and a rude gesture as he climbs the hill up toward the castle. Merlin turns back to Arthur with a smile and his cheeks stained an adorable pink. “What was that for?”

Arthur shrugs and laces his fingers with Merlin’s as he settles back by his side. “Because I wanted to.”

From the corner of his eye he sees Merlin grinning up at the sky.

Merlin shakes his head. “Hopeless romantic. And you didn’t answer my question. How’d the exam go?”

Despite his best efforts, he blushes. “It went fine.”

Merlin turns toward him with a furrowed brow. “What happened? Did the Patronus Charm not work?”

Arthur can’t quite look at him. “No - it, er, worked fine.” Merlin’s expression is still worried so Arthur sighs and sits up, running a hand over his face. When he peeks out from behind his fingers, Merlin is sitting up too. “It’s embarrassing,” he admits.

Merlin’s expression goes all soft. “Arthur,” and his chest thrums the same way it always does when Merlin says his name, “loads of people struggle with spells -- “

Arthur sighs. “That’s not why it’s embarrassing,” he grumbles, knowing his pouting is a bit dramatic but not being able to do a thing to stop it.

Merlin shakes his head, face still pinched with worry. “Then what --“

Arthur swallows and points his wand out toward the lake, focusing on the feeling of Merlin right by his side, and thinking about how Merlin insists on walking him to his dorm every evening before they go their separate ways, and the confession Merlin made the previous night while staying up to forgo sleep just so Arthur would get perfect marks.

“ _Expecto Patronum._ ”

And from his wand a misty feathered creature, hardly larger than the bloody book of Old Magic Morgana always has in her hands, takes flight. The wings of the silvery animal are tucked close to its side, its short beak pointed straight ahead as it soars over the expanse of the lake.

Merlin tilts his head to the side. “You're embarrassed because your Patronus is a bird? And not like a huge grizzly bear or lion or something equally terrifying?” Merlin clicks his tongue. “I didn’t take your masculinity to be quite so fragile, better hope Morgana doesn’t get wind of this.”

Arthur shoots him a disdainful look. “Merlin.”

“And I mean, it’s fairly _large_ as far as birds go. Comparatively speaking, my dragon is really quite small.”

“Merlin.”

“What?”

Arthur sighs. “The bird,” he says, gesturing with his wand. “It’s a _merlin_.”

Merlin’s eyes are a wide fathomless blue as he turns to watch the creature steaming across the lake and then he grins so wide in an expression so happy Arthur can’t bring himself to be annoyed at all.

Merlin’s still grinning when he points his own wand before him and smirks at Arthur. “You really are a hopeless romantic, Pendragon.” Then he casts the spell too and his own silvery wispy dragon begins chasing Arthur’s Patronus around the lake.

Arthur nudges their shoulders together. “Takes one to know one.”

Merlin throws his head back and laughs, a joyful sound that echoes in Arthur’s chest. He wraps an arm around Merlin’s shoulders as the wind picks up, carrying with it the new and always present spark of magic. 

They’ll need to get up soon, to head up to the castle for the End of Year Feast. They’ll go to their respective Houses where Arthur will sit with his dorm mates and Gwaine will dramatically reenact all his favorite moments from the past year while Elyan laughs and eggs him on. Leon will adopt a clear look of disapproval when Gwaine inevitably recruits the cutlery and food into his one man production. And Lance will be some mix of the two: amused but alarmed. And when Ravenclaw is officially announced winner of the House Cup and all the banners turn blue, Arthur will put on a show about being annoyed they lost even though really, the Cup stopped feeling important weeks ago. 

(Though next year, Gryffindor is going to _demolish_ all the other Houses. He already has the Quidditch practice schedule made and if Gwaine’s swearing and Lance’s blanching at the sight of it are any indication, it’s going to work.) 

As McGonagall gives her usual end of year speech about changing tides and navigating new and unknown waters (a speech that is just vague enough to feel profound and personally tailored to each and every student), he’ll look across the room and lock eyes with Merlin, squished between Will and Morgana. And Merlin will flash him a big smile with his eyes all crinkled up at the corners and Arthur will be filled with the same surge of happiness that only Merlin can bring out in him.

But they don’t leave for all of that just yet.

The two of them sit pressed against one another as the sun begins dipping below the horizon, watching their Charms soar across the water until the merlin and the dragon both dive beneath the surface and disappear into the depths of the lake, together.

  
  
_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all...we made it! Thank you so much for tagging along on this journey with me. Feel free to catch me on [tumblr](https://1-more-page.tumblr.com).
> 
> Comments and kudos are simply the best :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Merlin Emrys and the Egg of Aithusa](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24483130) by [magzawagzalot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magzawagzalot/pseuds/magzawagzalot)




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